The Killing Hand
by Kainos Ktisis
Summary: Tifa Lockhart: owner/bartender of the Seventh Heaven, savior of the planet...and keeper of a secret that may very well end her life, if not the world. Semi AU. Cloti.
1. Prologue

A/N: Am I insane or what? Starting another fic _now_ while my other stuff hasn't been updated in ages? I suck, I know, but I love this premise so I'm writing it.

Anyhow, for those of you who follow **PRO BONO** but have not read my update in **THE PORTRAIT**, I just wanted to make a note here that one of the reasons I've missing for so long is because my computer crashed, and along with it, most of my notes, outlines and pre-written passages for the stories I've been working on. Suffice to say, I wasn't happy. I've tried reworking **PRO BONO** but I'm having a hard time with it because I honestly don't remember where I was trying to go with it. Maybe one of these days my muse will be kind to me and let me continue it, but for now, it's very stuck. My sincerest apologies.

Aside from that, I've been doing an internship in China the last few months and let's just say that I haven't handled the transition from college student to full-time work (and yes, in China, an "internship" is essentially a full time job with low pay and no benefits).

With that all out of the way, here is my new story. It is slightly darker, but I promise that this _is_ CloudxTifa even though it might now look it. Essentially, it is a twist on the original game ending. The timeline, after this prologue, is _Advent Children_.

Last thing, although the title shares its name with a song by _Dream Theater_, this fic isn't quite inspired by it. There may be some resonant elements, but those are totally incidental.

Enjoy!

(I know this was an excruciatingly long author's note, but at least I'm giving you both the Prologue and Chapter One at the same time! :)

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><p>Disclaimer: The rights to Final Fantasy VII and all related characters and materials belong to Square-Enix. I make no profit (except for the pleasure of writing) from this story. Please refrain from suing me or anything stupid like that.<p>

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><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

PROLOGUE

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><p>The world was crumbling around her, but Tifa Lockhart couldn't bring herself to care.<p>

_Her_ whole world was right here beneath her prone body, her head tucked against a muscled shoulder, her fingertips resting on a heart that no longer beat. The blood from their wounds mingled together, and the morbidly romantic part of her imagined that the union of their blood symbolized a joining of their hearts. She knew it was fanciful. After all, how could two dead hearts unite? _His_ maybe the only one that was literally dead, but this hollow pain in her chest could only be the shriveled stone of a heart she once possessed.

It was eerily quiet in this isolated chamber deep in the very soul of the Northern Caves, and she was glad for it. Some fool part of her thought that if it was quiet enough, she would be able to make out a faint gasp for air, or the thready beat of a pulse.

She heard neither.

How strange to think that just an hour before, they'd been joking with the kind of humor that only emerges when facing certain death. Less than eight hours ago, she'd been in his arms and they'd had one excruciatingly beautiful night together.

The unnatural green glow of the cavern reminded her of the time they'd spent in the Lifestream, where they had revealed secrets buried so deep in their subconscious that they forgot the thoughts were even there. She ignored the little voice in her head that reminded her that some of the things she'd seen in his head had horrified her.

There was no return to the real world this time and that horrified her more. This was the real world, and in the real world Cloud Strife was dead.

It broke something in her to admit it.

"Tifa! Tifa! Are you there?"

The voice pounded at her misery and brought her back to reality.

She suddenly realized that currents of low rumbling bolstered the ringing silence in the cave. The rumbling intensified, and she watched with detached fascination as the pool of blood on the rocky ground rippled and slid about the floor like someone was tilting a pan of water from side to side. The sudden crash of boulder against boulder should have startled her, but even as the far sides of the cave started collapsing around her, she couldn't get her muscles to move.

"Tifa!" The frantic note in this voice reminded her of Barret, but she couldn't be sure, couldn't even pretend to care.

The cave was collapsing. That's good. She'll be buried together with him. That would be for the best.

But even as she thought it, she knew she wouldn't allow it. As much as she loved him, as much as she wished she could be by his side through all eternity, she couldn't.

She had to survive because she had a legacy to tell-_his_ legacy. She had to tell the world he was a hero. So she couldn't die here.

She kissed his cold, dead lips, the tears rapidly and suddenly falling when her last, ridiculous hopes were dashed. He was not like the princesses in those stupid fairytales who woke with a kiss. He was dead. Dead, dead, dead. And he wasn't coming back.

"I love you, Cloud," she murmured against his lips. "Please forgive me."

"Tifa! You gotta move!"

She wasn't sure whose voice it was; only that it wasn't _his_ and she'd never hear his voice again.

Her body stood up of its own accord, years of survival instincts so engrained into her nature that it didn't need her mind to operate. She didn't look back again when she scaled the crumbling cliffs in that god-forsaken cavern.

She wondered how it was that she wasn't causing the narrow ledges to collapse from the weight of the sins on her shoulders. But perhaps that was the cruelest punishment of all.

For the rest of her pitiful life, she would always be haunted by his ghost.


	2. Chapter 1

**THE KILLING HAND**

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><p>PART I<p>

"The reality of the other person lies not in what he reveals to you, but what he cannot reveal to you. Therefore, if you would understand him, listen not to what he says, but rather to what he does not say."

– Kahlil Gibran

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><p>CHAPTER ONE<p>

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><p>Tifa usually avoided Central Park like the plague.<p>

It wasn't that she didn't like the park; in fact, she'd been a vocal advocate for its construction. She'd suffered enough smog and pollution and industrial waste to last a lifetime during her years in the slums of Midgar. A park with actual green grass (not artificial turf), trees and _flowers_…It seemed like a distant dream come true. Certainly, the peals of carefree children laughter that floated to the heavens were a living testament to the wonders of life. So of course Tifa had thought that Central Park would be a great idea when it came up on Edge's city council agenda.

Reeve and the fledgling organization he headed up were doing an excellent job with creating a functional city council for Edge, and the new city was looking promising indeed. She and the rest of the team (even Vincent, to her surprise) had come to champion the bill that would authorize the construction of three public parks. It wasn't until they were all gathered in her newly renovated _Seventh Heaven_ to celebrate the passing of the bill afterwards that she realized that maybe they'd all backed the bill for the same reason: a tribute to the woman who could grow anything, even love.

To everyone's surprise, Tifa _hadn't_ support the other tribute that was brought up during the council meeting. The tribute to the hero who sacrificed everything, even his life. They thought that maybe she was unhappy that they were erecting a statue of him right in the middle of the proposed central park. They thought that maybe she was uncomfortable with the tribute to the flower girl and to the soldier being so close together, but no one dared voice it.

After all, they all knew that in the end, it was Tifa who held his heart. She marveled at how close to the literal truth that actually was.

Tifa didn't say anything to contest the foolish notion that she was jealous. Let them think what they will. There was no reason to explain that it was guilt she felt, not envy.

Every time she set eyes on that larger-than-life likeness elevated on a slab of thick granite, the hollow cavity in her chest expanded and pressed against her lungs until she thought that the void would swallow her whole. It never did, and she always thought it a pity.

She'd learned to avoid the statue, and in doing so, it only seemed natural that she began to avoid the park altogether. No need risking her wayward body taking her straight to the statue regardless of what her mind commanded—which was exactly what happened every time she set foot in Central Park. When she went on her daily run, she chose to go instead to West Park, even though that one was a good distance further.

But today's encounter was inevitable. Today was the second anniversary of the Day that Meteor Did Not Fall. It wasn't actually called that, of course. They called it Deliverance Day (she thinks it's supposed to be a reference to Aerith's hand in the salvation of the world), but to her, that day had not been deliverance. The Day that Meteor Did Not Fall was as positive a description as she dared to give. At the very least, it was a step up from calling it Damnation Day.

So yes, today was the Day that Meteor Did Not Fall, and she was expected at the memorial ceremony along with the rest of the "heroes." She didn't want to be a hero; she wasn't one, but the people needed a symbol of hope. She thought it was pathetic that the best symbols the world could dredge up included a barmaid, a trumped up thief, an eco-terrorist, an endangered animal, an ex-Turk, and a stuffed fortune-telling toy cum Shinra executive, but who was she to criticize? Just because they found hope where she had none was no reason to be bitter.

She shook her head and laughed at herself. Just listen to her. She was becoming more and more jaded by the minute. Or maybe it was more accurate to say that it was surprising she hadn't succumbed to the darkness earlier.

She didn't know how, but in the first year after the Day, she'd managed to stay positive and encouraging. Perhaps it was because the whole damned world was still reeling from nearly going to hell in a hand-basket, and everyone was too busy rebuilding their lives.

As people started to settle down and resume some semblance of normality, her thoughts contrarily grew more insidious.

_What are you doing, Tifa? Why are you still here? You've achieved your goal; you've told his story. Why are you still here?_

She tried to ignore the clinging darkness and immersed herself in work, but they were always there creeping into her thoughts, especially in the deepest night when she had only her mind to accompany her. Some nights when they got really bad, she'd climb into Marlene's bed and pretend that she was comforting the little girl, when in reality she just needed a human touch to remind her that she hadn't been absorbed into the glowing green world that hovered always at the edges of her consciousness.

Somehow Tifa knew that Marlene understood. She doesn't know how, especially when the girl had just turned six, but she did. Whenever she woke up to see Tifa curled around her body, Marlene would always stare at her with big brown eyes.

"It was a bad nightmare last night," she would say.

It wasn't a question, and to everyone else it would sound like Marlene was the one with the nightmares. Tifa knew better, so she would just nod. "Yes, it was."

Sometimes Tifa couldn't tell the difference between nightmare and reality. At least with nightmares, she knew she could escape. She could escape into the waking world and spend the next eighteen to twenty hours working herself ragged. Sometimes she was tired enough that she didn't dream.

But reality…there was no escaping reality and sometimes that was so much worse.

She passed by a number of families along the way to the mid-sized amphitheater (right near the statue, she remembered wryly) and though she managed a pleasant smile for their sakes—many of them patronized her bar and grill, and still others were parents of Marlene's friends—the coil of dread twisting her insides just kept growing.

She couldn't do this. She wanted to run away. But her footsteps brought her closer and closer to this living nightmare.

…

The man sneers inwardly—though anyone who might be watching him would only see the visage of cool beauty—when he sees the monument located so prominently in the middle of Cental Park which is also right in the middle of the city.

Symbolic? He doesn't doubt that it is meant to be.

"So the puppet is hailed as a hero, is he?" he murmurs, his eyes flashing with malice. Such beautiful irony. It tastes like ashes in his mouth.

…

Tifa was wrong when she said this was a nightmare. This was worse; it was hell.

She didn't know what Reeve was thinking when he so unceremoniously shoved her on stage and thrust a microphone in front of her. He wanted her to give a speech? About what? The least he could have done was giving her some forewarning. But maybe he knew that if he did that, she would have refused and not shown up at all.

She couldn't do this. For the first time in years, she felt panic welling up uncontrollably, her hands shaking with adrenaline. All her life she'd favored "fight," but right now, damned if she didn't want to concede to her "flight" instinct.

Distantly, she noted that she had perhaps twenty seconds before the crowd stopped applauding to hear what words of wisdom would come from her sagely lips. Twenty seconds to think of something appropriate to say, that wouldn't result in her upsetting everyone or being dragged off to the asylum (she didn't think Edge even had an asylum). Twenty seconds to control this mad maelstrom of emotions threatening to cripple her with its intensity.

Her eyes jumped about in the crowd, and though she knew there should be a number of familiar faces, all she could see was a blur of flesh-colored blobs topped with an assortment of different colored hair. She thought she made out the faces of her friends, but she couldn't keep her vision from spinning long enough to be sure.

Then everything stopped when she locked gazes with _him._

It was as if someone cast a massive Stop spell. No, it was even more surreal than that. It was like they were the objects of some artist's brush, and reality was limited to his canvas. The foliage ran together like oils and she felt that her expression of astonishment would be frozen on her forever. Perhaps this portrait of her weakness would be hung on the wall of some deity's home, there for them to laugh and mock and scorn.

The intensity in those eyes sucked the breath out of her. A ghost, a vision? A phantom sprung from her worst nightmares? No? A demon from the depths of hell then.

After all, _he_ was here. And it could only be impossible.

"_Cloud_."

As soon as she whispered his name, the rest of the world came crashing back to her. The crowd had stopped clapping for some time now and she could see from the expressions of Barret and the rest that they were anxious for her.

She frantically scanned the crowds for him again, but she couldn't find him. No tell-tale spikes of blond hair. No passionate blue eyes. No sculpted masculine beauty that made her very soul ache.

Maybe he was never there to begin with.

She didn't know why, but strangely that brief sight—vision?—of him filled her with a sense of delicious peace. She suddenly knew what she wanted to say.

"Cloud Strife was my best friend. He lost his life in the battle for this world, and so many times during these past two years I've felt like I would never recover. And so I drowned my sorrow in work. I tried to regain everything I'd lost. I've even rebuilt my bar. I've worked with Reeve and many of you to build a better world. And in many respects, we've succeeded. We've managed to construct a safe city for our children, complete with beautiful parks like this one. We've resumed something of a normal life. And it's been amazing to see that life does go on.

"But…as wonderful as all these things have been, I can't help but feel like we never gave ourselves time to mourn. We've all spent these years working hard, and I know that for myself, part of the reason I worked so hard was to forget the pain of loss. Today…today is a happy day because we remember that our world, that _we_ were spared. But it is also a day of mourning because we remember that many lives were sacrificed over the course of salvation.

"So, as I stand here today, I'd like to take this time to remember our loved ones. Remember and mourn. And then we can smile because that is what they would have wanted for us. For Cloud and Aerith."

She stepped away from the microphone, not realizing until Barret enfolded her in a bone-crushing hug that her whole body was shaking. The crowds had erupted into applause and many had tears streaming down their faces, memories of loved ones causing a tidal wave of emotions.

Her friends had surrounded her and took turns hugging her, but she went through the motions in a daze. In her mind's eyes, all she could see was Cloud's face staring at her from the crowds.

…

_The Seventh Heaven_ had a steady stream of customers trickling in and out. Some of them were here to celebrate the Day with their families, but most just wanted to take the opportunity to catch a glimpse of the world's saviors.

Her friends were making it easy for her customers, what with Barret, Cid and Yuffie holding some sort of drinking competition while Cait Sith egged them on with his megaphone. Reeve, at a distance from his alter ego, sat at a corner table with some of the other officials discussing the next round of improvements they could make for Edge. Congruous to his taciturn self, Vincent sat on a stool a fair distance away—far enough to claim he had nothing to do with them but close enough to see everything go down. Poor Red was being poked and prodded at by the children running around in the dining area.

They were enjoying themselves and letting loose for this one day in the year. If only Tifa could rid herself of the feeling that something—_someone_—was missing.

A distant part of Tifa's mind remembered to be thankful for the hustle and bustle which aided in her endeavor to bury the afternoon's incidents far in the back of her memory. She'll take it out to examine later, but for now, she needed the busyness of taking orders, making the drinks and delivering them to prevent her from descending into hysteria.

If she wasn't there already, that is.

Every now and then as she traversed one edge of the bar to the other, a flash of brilliant cobalt would hover at the edge of her vision and the shortest glimpse of flaxen hair would tease her with its ephemerality. Ghosts of a vision. Phantoms of an overworked and overwrought brain.

Hysterical? Perhaps not, but mad. Definitely straddling the line of madness. Straddling or falling headlong over it? She couldn't decide, and realized it didn't really matter. Her life was one blind, stumbling step in front of the other, after all.

God, she really needed to lay off the alcohol tonight. It always made her so damned emotional.

And that, she realized with a self-debasing grin, made her sound like a drunk.

She was just returning from delivering another round of drinks to the rowdy crowd when Vincent's low voice made her pause.

"You should take a break. You make me tired just watching you run around like that."

Tifa stared at him, but she couldn't tell if he was trying to be humorous when he said that or not. One could never really tell with Vincent, especially with his high-necked collar hiding half of his face.

He saved her from making a suitable response. "That was quite the speech you gave today."

"Thank you," she replied graciously even though the memory of the speech only reminded her of the blue eyes that had sparked it caused her stomach to roll uncomfortably.

"It sounded like you are finally beginning to let go of your guilt."

Tifa stiffened her shoulders automatically, tensing for a fight even though she knew it was a pointless response. Vincent's blood-red eyes seemed to dig too deeply into her psyche and she suppressed the urge to deck him. If anyone knew about guilt, Vincent was the man, and it disturbed her to think that he could spot the culpability she'd tried so hard to hide.

He mercilessly refused to let her drop either her gaze or the subject. Damn the man. Of all the times for him to start getting chummy with his former teammates, this was the last instance she wanted it to happen.

"Guilt is an insidious parasite, is it not?" he murmured, finally dropping his searching stare to rest of his tumbler of amber brandy. When he lifted his eyes back to hers, the probing gaze was gone; all that was left was a kind of wry amusement, something almost kind. "It is good to let go."

She nodded stiffly, even though she wanted to burst into maniacal laughter. Let go? She'd been running from it for so long that it wasn't a matter of her letting go, but of _it_ letting go of her.

Afraid Vincent would see too much—afraid he already did—she ducked her head and slipped behind the bar to mix the next round of orders. After another hour of tensing up every time Vincent moved (which, thankfully was not very often), Tifa finally began to relax again. Vincent didn't mean anything by his comments. Not anything more than normal consolation, anyway.

She had almost completely convinced herself of this when Marlene's high laughter filtered through the loud buzz of her customers. Marlene reached the swinging bar door an instant before her friend, Denzel, and she chattered away happily. Tifa didn't hear a single word because her attention caught and held on the man who Denzel eagerly towed behind him.

Her numbed ears picked up stray words from her young ward like "Denzel's cousin" and "awesome motorcycle," but all she heard was the screaming roar starting in the back of her brain and threatening to crush her whole.

_Cloud_.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Ouch, tough crowd. I think this is one of the greater disparities I've ever had between hits and reviews on the initial publishing. I'm glad people seem interested (or so I'm assuming since the number of hits for both chapters are similar), but I would really appreciate it if you drop a note or two. Thanks for those of you who have reviewed, and you know we review-sucking authors would never complain about getting more. :)

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><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER TWO

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><p>If Tifa had been the fainting type, she would have hit the ground hard.<p>

Most of the time she would have praised all that be that she wasn't a wilting female. In this one instance, she almost wished she _could_ faint. At least then she wouldn't have to fight this weakness in her knees and the dryness in her throat. Most of all, she wouldn't feel this all-encompassing ache in her heart clench tighter and tighter until she thought she would double over in pain.

The roaring in her ears wouldn't let up and her knuckles whitened in her ruthless grip of the edge of the counter.

She wasn't sure if there was a god, but she was sure as hell there was a devil because no way else could she be confronted with this, both her greatest wish and her worst nightmare: Cloud was _alive_.

She caught his eyes and abruptly the unnatural roaring stopped, the sudden influx of normal chattering conversations so jarring that a bottle of alcohol nearly slipped from her hands.

His eyes weren't the right color. They were a deep, dark violet that looked like the sky at dusk. If anything, they looked more like Zack's eyes than Cloud's. Zack's didn't have that green tinge that lightened his eyes and whispered of a festering evil.

Forcefully, she focused her attention on little Marlene. Pasting on a false smile, she knelt beside the girl—partly to hear her better, but mostly to shield herself from that face with the wrong eyes.

Killing time by fixing the non-existent wrinkles in Marlene's dress, Tifa said, "Slow down Marlene." Stalling some more, she rose to pour three glasses of water, placing two on the countertop for Denzel and _that man_ to take and handed one to Marlene.

The girl gulped down the water dutifully and grinned widely when she finished. "Sorry Tifa." She motioned for Denzel to come forward, who did so obediently and tugged along his long-suffering relative. "Denzel's cousin has a _motorcycle_!"

Tifa smiled genuinely despite the situation. Go figure that Marlene would be more impressed by a motorcycle than more feminine toys. Considering that Tifa, Yuffie, and Shera were her most constant female influences, it wasn't a surprise.

Then the rest of sentence sank in. "Denzel's cousin?" she echoed, her eyes unerringly finding his.

Dark blue eyes danced with commiseration, an expression she would have shared with any parent or guardian in reference to their intractable wards. But on him, that burst of amusement was devastating.

God, he looked good. It'd only been two years but apparently she'd forgotten how absolutely delicious he was. Not that she'd given herself many opportunities to ogle him during their journey, but she couldn't remember a time when his sheer maleness had hit her this hard before. Maybe it was because she wasn't prepared for it. That was the best excuse she could come up for this sudden onslaught of white hot lust.

It didn't help that he was eyeing her with undisguised interest in his gaze, the brush of his perusal tingling nerves that were already rubbed raw by his mere presence. His lips curved slightly in a gentle smile and she felt it like a kick in the gut.

_This is Denzel's cousin_, she reminded herself, willing to take any excuse that this was not Cloud Strife, bravery be damned. She couldn't tell if it was working or not; her mind was too confused.

With smooth, graceful motions, Not-Cloud reached a hand out to her. The motion drew attention to the sinewy muscle lining his forearms and up to the shoulders and chest that were well-defined by his dark grey t-shirt. It wasn't immodestly tight, but it definitely showed the result of consistent gym-work.

Belatedly, she realized that he meant to shake her hand. Flustered she stuck her hand in his with stiff motions. His fingers closed around her hand and she felt dainty for the first time in her life. Tifa Lockhart was never dainty. She was too hard for that. The reminder rammed a rod straight down her back and she immediately collected herself. Whoever this was, even if he wasn't Cloud, he was dangerous. She could tell already.

"Nice to finally meet you, Miss Tifa. Denzel has been mentioning your name is conjunction with all things edible—'Tifa makes this so much better,' is the usual phrase," he laughed not so much with his lips but with his eyes and oh god, his voice was the same, albeit slightly deeper.

Taking a deep breath, she smiled back politely. "It's always nice to know I'm good for feeding stomachs."

She arched a brow at Denzel who colored and immediately protested, "You're good at beating people up too!"

Tifa wasn't sure whether she should laugh or be mortified. Gods above, she was known for cooking and kicking ass. She supposed it could be worse.

Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to _him_ and fought down the panic that her hand was still in his grasp. Extricating it as casually as possible, she took up a glass and began wiping it, ignoring the fact that this was her clean stack. No one else would know.

Clearing her throat, she struggled to stay nonchalant. "So, Denzel's cousin, is there a name to that?"

His lips quirked and she wanted to throw her arms around his neck. _God_.

Then he spoke and she just wanted to cry.

"Zac. My name is Zac."

Head swimming, Tifa's hands paused on the tumbler she was wiping and then tightened almost to the point of cracking the glass. "Zac," she repeated, and she knew that she sounded like a fool, but at that point, it was the best she could do.

Fortunately, she was saved by Cid's bellow for more beer to chuzzle in their drinking competition. Normally, this was about the time when she would end their game before things got out of hand, but today, it was a blessed distraction.

Swiftly popping the metal lids of another three bottles with practiced ease, she delivered them to the trio of drinkers when Yuffie happened to look down the bar and noticed Zac.

Her mouth dropped open and she rapidly blinked her inebriated eyes. "Holy shit. Holy effing shit," she said, her words surprisingly clear. Go figure that the only words she'd be able to say without slurring were curses.

"What's got yer panties in a twist?" scowled Cid, his vision blurred.

She pointed, her arm a straight road sign to hell. "Cloud. It's Cloud."

"She's drunk," grunted Barret.

"No, look. Look, damn it! Nobody else has that head of spikes," she insisted.

They looked, and the area around the bar fell ominously silent.

"Holy shit. Holy fucking shit," said Cid repeated, all signs of drunkenness suddenly receding.

One by one, the former Avalanche members all turned to stare at the man back from the dead. Even Reeve looked up from his meeting to stare gapingly at him.

Zac shuffled his feet, the sudden deluge of attention on him making him visibly uncomfortable.

Denzel and Marlene exchanged confused looks. Marlene had only been four when Cloud had been found at the train station and come to work for Avalanche, and even then he'd only been with them for a couple of days before everything went to hell.

More than anyone, Tifa wanted answers, but the innate hostess in her knew that this wasn't the time and place. If there was such a thing at all.

"Guys, stop scaring the poor man. This is Zack." She was proud that she only stumbled over the name the slightest bit. Zac flashed her a grateful little smile and she swallowed the tide of overwhelming emotions to smile back, even if it was a tad wobbly.

Of all of them, the name struck Yuffie the hardest since she was the only other one who had met the Soldier. "Zack. Z-A-C-K, Zack." She let out a stream of obscenities then that was curbed only slightly by the presence of two children.

"Actually, it's spelled Z-A-C." When he noticed everyone staring at him incredulously, he gave a helpless shrug. "If it matters."

Tifa couldn't help the pained expression that crossed her face, but she shook it off. She was in the midst of a crisis aversion after all.

"Marlene sweetie, why don't you take Denzel and Zac to the living room? I'll be up in a little bit. I think we all need to...talk."

This last was directed at Zac mostly. Even though he looked as confused as a stranger should be, she couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right here.

As if a man with Cloud's face and Zack's name suddenly up could be anything _but_ "not right."

Marlene eyed her strangely, and again Tifa was filled with the sense that she knew and saw far more than a six-year-old should. Then she shrugged and chirped, "Okay. C'mon." She took Zac's hand and led him and Denzel to the back where the stairs leading to the living area were.

Barret started after them, but Tifa stopped him with a hand. "I don't want my Marlene there with him by herself."

"She'll be fine. Denzel lives with Cl—with Zac, and she's been over to Denzel's before. If he wanted to do anything to her, he had several opportunities before now to do it."

"Still…" He broke off when he noticed the shadows under her eyes. "Teef, are you gonna be alright?"

She waved him off. "I'm fine. Just…shocked." A thought suddenly striking her, she turned to Red, who had joined them upon noticing the tension at the bar. "Can you sense anything?"

Red lifted his snout to delicately sniff at the air again. "It is difficult to tell in the bar, but I do not detect any trace of Cloud's scent."

The rest of Avalanche—except for Vincent—rolled back on their heels, stunned. In the animal kingdom, an individual's scent was like their fingerprint. There was only one unique scent per animal, and this truth extended to humans as well.

Vincent continued to nurse his drink absently before quietly vocalizing the question that ran through all their heads. "Is it more likely that a man has come back from the dead wearing a different identifying scent and another man's eyes, or that he is a genuine stranger who just happens to share many of Cloud's physical traits?"

A collective shiver went through the group. They knew more than they should about men coming back from the dead. Witness Sephiroth. But the truth was that none of them had felt anything malicious about the man; in fact, none of them had sensed him at all. Short as Cloud was, his presence had been large and menacing, easily detectable even in a small room. This man was incongruously _normal_.

Besides, now that she thought about it, she'd always thought that Denzel had many traits that reminded her of Cloud. If anyone had a relation who looked like Cloud's twin, it would be Denzel.

"It doesn't matter right now. Red, can you come up with me? Vincent, would you mind looking after the bar please? If anybody asks, there'll be no more drinks tonight, and I'd be grateful if people went home for the rest of their celebrations.

Vincent nodded in acquiescence and Tifa tossed down the rag she was still holding.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay, Teef?" asked Barret with his usual endearingly gruff concern.

She straightened her spine. "I'll be fine."

As she mounted the steps with Red's comforting presence against her thigh, Tifa realized that this whole situation was just about the last thing in the world that she wanted or needed. Vincent had been right. Her speech today was a reflection that she'd finally begun to see that some things had been necessary. She didn't think that the guilt would stop haunting her any time soon, but at least she'd been able to see it for what it was.

But now…the feelings came back fiercely, both the good and the bad until she thought she would explode from the onslaught of conflicting emotions. For the first time in two years, she acknowledged that she was tired. Bloody, bone-deep tired.

She paused on the landing before the door to her living space, one hand on the railing as she waited for her world to stop spinning. Red nuzzled her free hand with his nose in a show of affection and comfort, and she smiled despite herself. Sometimes she felt like out of all her friends, Red knew her the best. It was probably because he had the benefit of being more attuned to moods and natural instincts, but she was comforted nonetheless.

"Here we go," she muttered before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

Just past the foyer was the living room, so with her first glance she saw that Zac was sprawled easily on the couch while he watched Marlene and Denzel enact some scene from a storybook. She smiled in spite of herself when she noticed that Marlene had refused to play the part of the damsel in distress and instead was dueling wholeheartedly with the villainous Denzel. No matter how girly Marlene had the tendency to be in her likes, she knew the merits of defending herself.

Marlene was the first to spot them since she was facing the down and she stopped in her playacting immediately. "Tifa! Red!"

Zac turned to face them and stood, an impossibly liquid motion that brought to mind images of a great cat uncurling and stretching its lithe muscles. He nodded at Tifa then turned his full attention on Red. Like two predators, they eyed each other warily, measuring up strengths and weaknesses. Tifa thought that he looked like a dark nation, all sleek lines and compact power.

After another moment, both Zac and Red seemed to be satisfied with what they saw because the tension between them visibly broke and settled into mutual respect.

To her surprise, it was Red who spoke first. "You know much about beasts, human."

Zac didn't show any evidence of surprise that the beast before him spoke. Then again, most everybody already knew that there was a talking wolf-like animal that was a part of the team who saved the world.

Instead, one corner of Zac's lips turned up. "Humanity is a thin veil for our innate animal instincts."

Red's teeth bared in a wolfy grin. "Touche, my friend."

Red's deliberate change in the way he addressed Zac did not escape her notice. She caught his eye and the slight glow there told her that he did it purposely as a confirmation of Zac's character at least. Tifa trusted his instincts as much as she trusted her own.

Zac broke through their unspoken communication. "Actually, I guess I'm just more in tune with the inner beast because I spent almost a decade in the forests of Wutai on my own."

"A decade? How old are you?"

He grinned like it was a question he was often asked. "I'm twenty-five."

For some reason, Tifa was sorely disappointed. If Cloud had lived, he would have been twenty-three this year. A part of her realized that she'd still held out hopes that maybe, just maybe…

"Fifteen is still a very young age for a human boy to be left alone in the wild," said Red. Tifa was thankful for the cover.

"Well, I wasn't completely alone. I was part of Wutai's guerilla resistance. My parents had just passed away, and Denzel's parents had no way of controlling a stubborn idiot who wanted to join the resistance. I was gone before they could bring me to live with them. I always say it was a good thing I left. I would have terrified them from having their own kids, then we wouldn't have had Denzel here." He reached out to muss the hair of his cousin affectionately before Denzel went straight back to his epic battle with Marlene. "I wish I'd gotten back earlier though so I could have been here for him when my aunt and uncle died."

"You came back just recently?" Alarm bells rang in Tifa's head again and she pressed it down ruthlessly.

"Yeah, after Shinra won the war, I stayed in the woods with some of the men in my unit and stayed out. Not many non-Wutains fought against Shinra and I was too memorable. I came straight back when I heard Midgar had been destroyed because I knew my aunt and uncle were there. I didn't even know Denzel existed until I went looking for them and heard they had a son who'd survived."

Tifa winced despite herself. The demise of Denzel's parents—and that of thousands, millions of others—weighed heavily on her mind as products of her sin. They'd died in the collapse of the plate, and while Tifa knew that it was Shinra who ordered it, she also knew that they'd done it to flush out Avalanche and to make a statement against them. It still hurt to accept that.

"It wasn't your fault, you know." Tifa looked at Zac in surprise as he continued, "The plate. That was all Shinra's doing. They didn't have to blow up the pillar to deal with you, but that's what they chose to do."

"Thank you." She knew it too, but hearing it from someone else helped.

There was another difference between this Zac and Cloud. Cloud was never very good about saying the right things. But then, he often didn't have to say anything at all. He just had to hold her, and she felt better.

No words, she'd told him, and that was the whole of their relationship. At the time, she'd taken pride in the idea that they didn't need words between them, but she realized more and more that she'd never really _known_ him. It was a sobering thought.

Other than his face and his hair, she really didn't have another reason to suspect that this man standing relaxed, open and friendly before her was really Cloud. That meant she had some apologies and explanations to make about everyone's reaction earlier.

"About earlier…" she began.

He grinned. "You mean when everyone was staring at me like I was a circus freak?"

She let out a weak laugh. She appreciated that he could find the humor in it, but she was still too off-balance. "Yeah, then. It's just that you look…." To her horror, she found her voice breaking and a note of misery filtering through despite her best efforts.

He looked at her long and hard, but his thoughts were indecipherable. He surprised her with what he finally said. "I'm sorry I look like someone who hurt you."

"He didn't hurt me," she replied automatically. At his doubtful look, she explained, "I'm hurt, but not because he did it. I'm hurt because he's gone."

"That's…not a very clear difference."

"I suppose not," she admitted, not once able to look away from the pull of his magnetic gaze.

Her lips spread reluctantly and his eyes glittered as if they shared a wonderful secret. For the first time in two years, she felt the quickening flutter of her pulse and a tell-tale flush seeping through her body.

She shoved down the reaction. This man may not be Cloud—she wasn't fully convinced of that yet—but he was dangerous to her. If given the chance, he could completely demolish what was left her stone heart. To give him that opportunity would be nothing short of foolish.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: This chappie is short, but I'm giving you another two-fer. Thanks for the reviews and I hope you all continue to enjoy this story!

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><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER THREE

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><p>Zac Taylor has long ago reconciled himself to the fact that he is just one more man who wants Tifa Lockhart. Even if he discounts all the fools who want her only for her body, Zac is still in company with a frighteningly thick throng of men. He can't even say that he is the best man out of the bunch.<p>

He will, however, claim that he knows her the best. Granted, this is the first time he's officially met her, but Zac is a strong believer in a child's judge of character, and they are a strong testament to her strength of character indeed. Denzel, Marlene, and a host of other neighborhood kids all agree that Tifa Lockhart is one of their—if not, _the_—favorite adults.

From them, he learned that Tifa has a heart of gold, always willing to take the time to help others, even if it is at the expense of herself. He learned that even though she has a soft heart, she is no pushover and is wise beyond her years in how she deals with people. Those who are genuinely struggling, she will aid with all her heart, and those who are trying to take advantage of her…well, if they are lucky, they don't get any broken bones. He learned that she kicks major ass in the kitchen and that she has a dangerous sweet tooth. He learned that her favorite color is blue and that even though she pretends romance novels are a load of bull, she has a secret stash of them hidden away in her bedside drawer. He learned that when she laughs, the world looks like a brighter place, but that nobody knows what it would look like if she cried because she never does (at least in public).

He also learned that she isn't happy.

Oh, she has her moments of course. Everyone does, but she lacks that sense of soul-deep joy.

He wants her to be happy. He wants to be the one to make her happy.

But he also knows that it will be hard, if not impossible, for him to do so. He has the face of Cloud Strife and that will always work against him.

He's seen pictures of the man in newspapers and videos and although those images have always been a bit blurry, even Zac has to admit the resemblance is uncanny. Zac spends a long time fighting the anger that arises every time he thinks of the fact that his face will only hurt her.

And so he has waited two years before he dares show himself to her. He would have waited even longer, but when he listened to her speech that day in the park, he realized he can't wait any more. She is healing, but she is also desperately sad. He has to lift the sadness from her.

So he finally gets Denzel to show him into the Seventh Heaven. His first real look at her is glorious. She is as beautiful as he imagines, but he is disturbed by the shadows that seemed to cling to her.

He is also proven correct that his face would be a major deterrent. Her friends eye him suspiciously, not that he blames them, but it lifts his heart when she defends him.

And now, now she has that rueful smile that lights up his very soul and he wants to spin her around in circles and exult in triumph. He settles with gazing at her with as much warmth as he can. He knows that his affections are engaged far more than hers, and he doesn't want to scare her away. He has to go slow, or he'd lose the best thing in his life.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: I've forgotten about the function which allows you to jump to the latest updated chapter. If that's what you did, be aware that I updated TWO chapters at once this time. Remember to click that back button.

Also, despite all appearances, I promise, promise, promise that this is Cloti. Promise. Honest. Okay, that's all. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER FOUR

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><p>All told, even taking impromptu speeches and dead-lover lookalikes into account, the Day had gone better than Tifa had expected. Of course her only other frames of reference included the actual day in which all sorts of hell had gone down, and last year when she'd worked for thirty straight hours in a vain attempt to exhaust herself so badly that she wouldn't be aware of the date. So yes, comparatively speaking, today had gone well.<p>

At least she wasn't curled up in a ball of misery and drowning in self-pity. Nope, instead she was relying on the soothingly repetitive motions of wiping down the tables to temper her nerves. Needless to say, she'd wiped down several tables before some semblance of rational thought was possible.

Not surprisingly, her thoughts drifted to Zac. It felt strange to call him that, even in her own head. She wondered if it was possible that a coincidence quite as large as all that existed. A man with Cloud's face, Zack's name and a stranger's memory.

She sighed again and wondered if there would ever be a time when her life would actually be _normal_. Likely not, she conceded.

The heavy thuds of Barret's boots clambering down the stairs made her almost smile. Ah, so they were going to play the protective older brother/gruff uncle card with her. She was wondering which one of them they would send down and who. She loved her friends dearly, predictable as they were, and she knew they loved her. However, that didn't mean that she was ready to spill her guts to them.

"Hey Teef, you down here?" came Barret's low baritone.

She straightened her back and placed her hands, one still holding an old rag, on her hips. "You knew that before you came down here, you big lug."

It was one of the few things that still amused her to see Barret's dark skin flush even darker, as it did right then. "You doin' okay, girl?"

At least Barret didn't try to beat around the bushes, so she returned the favor. "Honestly, no, but I'll deal."

"Teef…"

"No, I mean it. Of course I've had better days, but I'm actually not too torn up." Or maybe it hadn't all sunk in yet.

Barret's long stride closed the distance between them quickly and he enveloped her in one of his patent bear hugs. "You're gettin' too good at shuttin' everything up so tight, Teef."

That surprised her even though she knew it shouldn't. Despite the fact that their group didn't get together very often, she should've known that they'd noticed her self-defense mechanisms. She hated being so cliché but gods knew she'd been acting like her namesake.

"I'm okay, Barret. I really am. Don't worry about me."

He snorted. "Try that on someone else, girl. Tellin' me to not worry…"

Tifa tightened her arms around Barret briefly before pulling away. "Just give me some time. I promise I'll be fine."

Barret gave her a long, inscrutable look before lumbering back upstairs to the living area, muttering all the while. She knew it was completely against his protective instincts to let this go as it was, so she was thankful that he respected her enough to give her space. For all his intimidating inner city tough guy looks, he was really a big softie.

If only she could trust _herself_ as much as Barret trusted her.

…

Two weeks later, Tifa was standing at her customary position behind the bar restocking the alcohol on the shelves and thinking that the next past couple of weeks had been surprisingly…_normal_. Maybe she was being overly paranoid, but she couldn't help but feel like there was somethingwrong going on. She'd relied on her instincts for so long that she couldn't ignore them, even if she tried.

Part of her felt like something _had_ to happen because she'd had two years of normality and two years was far too long for someone like her.

But, no sudden signs of the apocalypse turned up, and everyone went peaceably back to their respective homes after the celebrations were over. _The Seventh Heaven_ was back down to just Tifa and Marlene.

At the thought of the little girl, Tifa's chest ached. It always hurt to watch Barret and Marlene say their goodbyes, but they'd both long ago come to the conclusion that Marlene was better off staying Tifa where she could go to school and have friends her age. Even if Edge was a work in progress, it was still far better than the life she would live with Barret in the new coal mine cities surrounding North Corel.

At the same time, Tifa was selfishly thankful that she had Marlene with her. If not for the precocious six-year-old whose bright smile Tifa could never deny and too-wise-eyes that saw more than many adults did, she thinks that she would have long ago descended into madness. A part of her wondered if Barret had seen her desperation and in the most selfless act a father could make, he'd sent Marlene to her as a balm to her invisible wounds.

If so, she was grateful beyond words.

Interestingly, Zac hadn't made another appearance either. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed at this fact. Seeing him and talking with him had made the hole in her heart that much more obvious and painful. She didn't know if she could sustain prolonged contact with him. At the same time, it felt so disturbingly natural to glance at the door every now and then, waiting for him to come in.

You'd think that after all the waiting and eventual disappointments she'd had that she would know better. But no, a stubborn piece of her heart felt like she was waiting for Cloud, and she knew that she would wait forever for him if she could.

With a shake of her head and a frown, Tifa turned her attention back to restocking her alcohol. It was late afternoon and although there were always some customers lounging about, they were regulars and not demanding on her attention, so she often took the opportunity to organize.

Her frown deepened when she noticed that several bottles of her brandy was missing. That was strange. She always took careful stock of her drinks, but especially her expensive stuff. She double-checked the crate, but nope, there were definitely no other bottles of zeio nut brandy lurking about.

Had she taken them out before and forgot? It didn't make sense. Most people in Edge couldn't afford the expensive stuff, so she really only had it on hand for celebrations and the very occasional wealthy traveller. The only recent time something would merit her busting out the zeio nut brandy was The Day, but she didn't recall actually touching it.

She made a mental note to check the storeroom to see if she'd taken them out on accident. It was unlikely, but it wouldn't hurt to check.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the chime set off by the bar doors being opened. She turned toward the entrance and almost froze in place.

She really, really couldn't talk—_think_—about someone without him showing up, could she?

Zac's stride was relaxed as he made his way toward the bar. Her sight was arrested by the fascinating play of muscles outlined by his black t-shirt. She'd seen Cloud's naked torso plenty of times—camping out in the wilds in a trek across the world tended to limit privacy to the severest degree—but for some reason, the covered flesh lured and whetted her curiosity even more.

He stopped a couple of times along the way to greet acquaintances, laughing and joking with the men and smiling courteously (and just a little flirtatiously) at the women, but his eyes constantly sought hers, as if he had to reassure himself that she was really there.

The clench to her stomach was almost painful when she recognized that action. Cloud had always done that too. Oh, it hurt to think how different he was from Cloud yet at the same time was so similar! It was even worse when she admitted that a disturbingly strong wave of heat swept through her at the sight of him, leaving her skin tingling all the way to her toes.

It was a strange and disturbing realization to know that she could still feel desire.

Part of her felt like her desire was a betrayal, yet another part of her claimed that it was to be expected since Zac was essentially a carbon copy of Cloud in looks. The two sides of her warred as Zac neared the bar, but eventually her guilt won through. She had no right to ogle someone, even if—or maybe, _especially_ because—he looked like Cloud.

She dropped her gaze and pretended to be busy, though she didn't dare turn around and present him with her back. It might be unreasonable, but she felt it would leave her too vulnerable if she did. She inwardly laughed at herself at that because every cell in her body nearly vibrated from his proximity. She was already vulnerable, and she knew it.

_He's not for you,_ she reminded herself. _No one is._

But when his mouth curved into a somewhat shy, all parts magnetic smile at her, all her good intentions went out the window.

She ducked her head and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, suddenly sheepish and feeling like a schoolgirl with a major crush, even though she'd never really had the opportunity to _be_ that schoolgirl with a crush. Her body was sure making up for lost time now.

By the time she'd composed herself, Zac had sat down on a barstool with his elbows resting on the counter top. His followed her and there was a little smile playing at the corner of his lips, like he knew that she was flustered by him.

She wanted to be enraged at his arrogance so that she could get over this overwhelming reaction to him, but just beneath the smile was a wave of shyness that reminded her of a little boy in Nibelheim. She realized that for all his overt sensuality, he was just as out of his element as she was.

It relaxed her enough to bring out a teasing smile. "You've got yourself some real fans over there."

Tifa nodded at a small group of women sitting in one of the booths. She often chatted with them, and she knew that Zac was right up their favorite topic: hot men.

His cheeks flushed the slightest bit and he raised one hand to scratch the back of his neck. Her gut clenched at the motion and visions of Cloud doing the exact damn thing thousands of times flashed through her mind.

To his credit, he then turned around to shoot them a devastating half-smile anyway. She shook her head when he turned that exaggeratedly sexy smile on her and waggled his eyebrows.

"Ouch," he said while sweeping up a hand to rest over his chest. "It really hurts a guy's ego when he turns on his stuff and you're completely unaffected."

Tifa couldn't help it; she laughed. Whatever invisible string attached to her chest and that pulled taut whenever she was around him loosened.

Then it tightened again when she saw the intent expression on in his eyes. The rest of his face was shuttered, but that look in his eyes… They burned her.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his hand absently reaching up to touch her. She held herself completely still, not sure if she was bracing herself for the contact because she was unsettled by it…or because she wanted it.

Right before they made contact, he abruptly snatched back his hand, reclining lazily against the short back of the barstool. The intense gaze blinked out and suddenly those dark violet eyes were dancing with laughter. "Of course, I'm pretty hot stuff myself."

Completely thrown by the pendulum of emotions he evoked in her, Tifa managed a smile, but it was half-hearted. Whatever the hell _that_ all was about, it was impossible to deny that only one man had ever been able to make her feel like this.

…

It is unfortunate that so many people are in view of him or else he would scoff at the mushy interaction between the martial artist bartender and _him_. As it is, he has to hold in his disgust and pretend at nonchalance. Of course, he is very experienced with this, but it is a bother nonetheless.

He consoles himself with the fact that the charade need not carry on for much longer.

He anticipates the coming chaos like a drugging high.

…

After Tifa set down the bottle of beer that Zac had ordered, a long silence filled the space between them. Whereas before Tifa had been thankful for the small crowd, now she was just feeling twitchy and wished that she had more to do than restock her alcohol. Because she still didn't dare touch the crate now that Zac was sitting at the bar and doing that glancing thing again.

Zac had seemed to sense her unease and had graciously backed down, but that just made Tifa feel guilty. It wasn't his fault that her emotions were all so screwed up right now. She guessed that was the result of locking up everything way too tightly for the last two years.

Calling herself ten sorts of cowards for not doing her job and making easy conversation with the poor guy, Tifa finally sucked it up and with what she hoped what a breezy tone, she asked, "So what do you do, Zac?"

His expression, which had begun to border on brooding and which made him look like Cloud that much more, lightened immediately when she addressed him. Gods, it was frightening to have that much control over someone else's feelings. She didn't dare delude herself into thinking that Zac wasn't interested. Which made everything that much worse.

He cleared his throat importantly, and Tifa was amused in spite of herself. "Ahem. Allow me to introduce you to Edge's one and only…delivery boy."

She laughed at his antics before his words sank in. "Taylor's Delivery Service. That's your company."

"Well, I wouldn't call it a company since we have the grand total of one employee right now: me. But yes, I'm delivery boy extraordinaire, at your service."

Tifa looked at him with new respect. She knew it wasn't an easy job, being the city's only mail system, and she was impressed that he'd taken it upon himself to fill in that need. She was surprised that she hadn't run into him earlier with all the orders she had to make for her alcohol, but then remembered that Cid usually helped out with his airship, especially since most of her wares weren't local fare.

"You're doing a good thing for this city."

He shrugged and although his tone was nonchalant, she could tell that she was embarrassed. "Just making a living, ma'am."

In his discomfiture, a hint of country drawl entered his voice. She couldn't quite place the accent, but she knew she'd heard it before. Then again, she'd travelled the world just two years ago. Everything she'd seen and heard had long since jumbled in her memory.

A teasing smile flitting at her lips, she pulled out her long-since shelved Nibelheim belle inflection and replied, "Well Ah don't believe ya're all that mercenary. Ah think ya're really just a good ol' fashion gent'leman, ahren't'ja?"

Then she chuckled and put a hand to her forehead. Reverting to the clipped Midgarian tones she was now familiar with, she said, "Oh geez, it's been a long time since I've tried doing that."

He laughed with her. "We all need a good country drawl every now and then."

"Where are you from? I know I've heard your accent before, but I don't remember where."

"Font Condor, round-a-bouts."

"Ah…yes, I remember having a hard time understanding one of the old men there, and I grew up as a country girl."

"Yeah, well, I learned to get rid of my accent quick. Nothing more embarrassing than your unit understanding the local Wutains butchered Gaiash* more than my country drawl."

She laughed again and absently realized that she'd laughed more in the last half an hour than she had in a very long time.

The doors to her bar suddenly burst open and Scott Reubens, one of the teachers at the elementary school, stumbled in out of breath. He looked like he'd just run a marathon.

Tifa rushed to his side. "Scott! What's going on?"

Scott coughed and he quickly downed the cup of water someone shoved at him. "Fire. School. Can't control it."

Tifa's blood froze.

_Oh God, Marlene_.

She was out the door in the next second.

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><p>*Gaiash: <em>lingua franca<em> of the Final Fantasy VII world


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Okay, this is just too interesting not to mention. I was doing some research to remind myself of game/movie events when I came across something in Wikipedia (which we all know holds only the absolute truth). Anyhow, turns out that the original script for Advent Children did not mention Aeris and that the ribbons were added afterwards to show that the team hadn't forgotten her. Ironic much?

Anyhow, thanks for the reviews, and here's the next chapter!

EDIT (5/31/2011): Dropped the rating from M to T. Initially, I was afraid my language and violence would merit it, but as I've been writing these chapters, I don't foresee anything that will really push the rating up to Mature. If it does, I guess I'll just up it again.

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><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER FIVE

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><p>Tifa's mind was in a scramble even as her body and her instincts carried her down the streets and over any obstacles in her race to the school. It was only two miles away—she'd purposefully picked the location of the bar to be nearby the school—but for all her anxiety, it may as well have been halfway across the world.<p>

Why was there a fire? What started it? Were the children trapped inside the school building?

At that last horrifying thought, she pushed her body to the limit and increased her speed until she had to focus everything on regulating her breathing so that her sides wouldn't cramp up.

They had to be okay. Marlene had to be okay. Memories of another fire tormented her and the smell of ashes clogged her nose. She almost stumbled before she managed to shove the memories, the nightmares, far in the back of her mind where she always locked them.

It wasn't until they were buried deep once more that she realized that the smell of smoke wasn't from her memories. It was from the school she'd just arrived at.

Reeve was already there with a crew of men battling the fire with hoses and buckets. She made straight for him.

"Reeve! The children, are they okay?"

Reeve's usual immaculate dress suit was rumpled and his hair looked like he'd tried to tear it out several times. "Most of them, yes." He paused and looked her in the eye, the expression on face filled with dismay. "There's still a few missing from the headcount."

Dread speared through her at the look on Reeve's face. "Marlene. Oh God, Marlene."

She raced for the school building and was tackled when she was about twenty yards away. She fought like a wildcat, not caring that she'd drawn blood and landed punishing hits on her captor. "Let me go, damn it!"

But whoever was holding her down was impossibly strong and she wasn't lucid enough to wonder how he could subdue her. Before she knew it, she was sobbing and clenching her fingers tight into the cotton fabric of a man's shirt. A firm but gentle hand was smoothing over her hair and down her face, a gentle, crooning voice telling her to calm down.

Through her tears, it vaguely registered that it was Zac who was holding her and a distant part of her mind realized that he must have run right after her at the bar.

"Let me go," she cried. "She's still in there! Marlene is still in there!"

At that, the muscles in his body tensed for a fraction of a second and his steady flow of comforting words cut off. When his words started up again, his body was still taut and ready for action.

When he seemed sure that she wouldn't struggle anymore, he pulled her to her feet and held her close as he walked her back to Reeve.

Without warning, he grabbed a bucket of water from one of the men putting out the fire and poured it on himself. Then he sprinted for the building and ran inside.

No, no, nononono. Tifa couldn't let this happen. She couldn't lose him again. Her mind didn't care that he wasn't Cloud, not really. All it knew was that a man she cared about had just run into a burning building.

She made to run, but Reeve was ready and caught her from behind. When he couldn't hold her still, he called for others to help restrain her. Desperation gave her strength and each passing minute felt like an eternity.

Fighting dirty, she'd almost broken free when a figure broke free of the flames. A sob caught in her throat when she realized that Zac was holding not one child, but _two_ in his arms.

With a wordless cry, she rushed toward them and Reeve and his men were smart enough to let her go.

"Marlene! Zac!"

Zac managed to make it out of the fire's danger range, and he collapsed on the floor flat on his back with both children still in his arms. They were both unconscious and Tifa noticed that the other child he had with him was Denzel.

Oh god, she'd almost lost both of them. She'd almost lost all _three_ of them.

Even with his eyes shut as if in pain and his face darkened by the smoke, he let out a weak chuckle when she came near. "What? No reward for the hero?"

Falling to her knees beside them, she wanted to throttle Zac for his heroics. "You damned idiot! Stupid, stupid idiot!"

Then, careful not to crush them, she threw her upper body across theirs in a ferocious hug.

She didn't dare analyze why the four of them together felt so much like a family.

...

The next few days were spent in and out of the hospital. Marlene and Denzel had been held overnight to monitor the smoke inhalation and were released the next day with warnings not to do anything overly strenuous, drink lots of liquids, and to get plenty of fresh air.

Zac's injuries were much more severe. Thank God he didn't have any third degree burns, but his arms were covered with second degree burns, his face glowed red like a tomato, and clumps of his pale blond hair were singed. He should make a complete recovery in a couple of weeks, but they wanted to keep him hospitalized for a few days to make sure he didn't get any infections during this first stage of healing. If all went well, he'd be out of the hospital within the week.

Tifa went to see him as often as she could, which turned out to be quite often. Barret had come back to stay with Marlene, and she'd kept Denzel with them as well since Zac was hospitalized and obviously couldn't take care of him.

It broke her heart the first night when she heard Denzel crying in his sleep. She'd sat down next to him and he'd latched onto her. "I tried to keep her safe, I tried. Honest!"

She'd known instinctively that he was talking about Marlene and she'd hugged him even tighter. Brave, brave boy.

"Shh…you did great Denzel. You protected her."

He'd kept on repeating himself, and it took nearly half an hour before he fell back asleep. She'd smoothed back the hair from his forehead and frowned when she'd noticed that it was still slightly darkened from the ashes. She'd thought she'd cleaned him up well early that day.

Going into the bathroom, she'd wet a cloth with warm water so that it was damp and not dripping with water. She'd wiped his forehead gently, but the greyish area didn't come clean. With a frown, she'd reminded herself to check again in the morning and see if a little soap wouldn't help.

As she settled into the chair next to Zac's bed, she reminded herself again to check if the grey spot had rubbed off yet.

Zac came in and out of consciousness thanks to the painkillers they'd pumped into him along with the necessary fluids via IV. Right now, he was out, so Tifa took out a book to occupy the time until either he woke up or the visiting hour was over.

What she really wanted to do was to investigate what had caused the fire. Fires had always been something of a nemesis to her, and she loathed that it had almost taken away something precious from her yet again. She didn't dare analyze why she considered Zac as precious as Marlene and Denzel.

Unfortunately, she also knew that the city had its own law enforcement officers, and no matter how she might feel otherwise, they were the ones in charge of investigating the incident. Still, surely it couldn't hurt to do a little digging...

Twenty minutes later a knock on the door interrupted her reading and she quickly shoved the book in her bag—she was still in denial that she read romance novels—before calling out, "Come in."

The door opened and Reeve came in with a six-pack of beer and left it on the table where Zac's other get-well-soon presents were. Tifa raised an eyebrow and Reeve chuckled. "I figured he'd probably appreciate the beer more than flowers."

Tifa smiled, though it probably looked a little weary. "How are all the other kids?"

"They're fine. Other than Marlene and Denzel, only three other kids were injured: one with smoke inhalation and the other two with minor burns. Have you spoken with Marlene and Denzel about what happened that day?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but they couldn't tell me much. Marlene had gone inside to use the bathroom while all the other kids were outside. When Denzel heard the explosion, he saw that Marlene hadn't come back out and ran in after her."

Reeve whistled through his teeth. "Brave kid."

"I know. I don't even know whether I should punish him for being reckless or to hug him to bits for being such a trooper."

"Well, you just be careful when those teenage hormones hit. I have a feeling you'll have your hands full chaperoning," Reeve teased, a wicked glint in his eyes.

Tifa groaned in response. "Don't even joke about it." Her heart squeezed at the thought of childhood sweethearts, and the fact that hers had been tainted. Shaking her head, she said, "Back to the fire, what did other people say about it?"

Dark coffee eyes turned serious. "See, that's what's really strange. Most everybody was outside for the annual field day, even the teachers. Everybody says the same thing. They're all out playing games and then suddenly a loud explosion rings through the air. Before they know it, the building has gone up in flames. Almost everyone was already on the athletic field, so it was fairly easy to organize into their homeroom classes and take the head count. That's how we knew that only Marlene and Denzel were missing. The thing is, it's almost like the arsonist timed it so that the least amount of people could get injured."

Tifa's skin crawled. "Arsonist? You're certain?"

Reeve sighed and rubbed his temple. "We're certain. One of my guys found the remains of a bottle and the smell of kerosene. We think that the fire was supposed to be small and contained. Unfortunately, whoever set it off didn't realize that the school's building materials are extremely flammable. When we first started building the school, we had to make do with cheaper materials to get it done quicker, and we're in planning _right now_ to build another school, a better one. If only we'd gotten it done faster…"

"It's not your fault, Reeve."

And it really wasn't. If Reeve had his way, the school would have been built last year. Unfortunately, with any kind of council, there was a whole lot of underhanded power play. Some of Reeve's rivals on the council had shot down the plans for a new public school just because they didn't want Reeve to get the support of more parents.

"I know. It just pisses me off that now these kids have nothing while we build another shitty temporary school and wait some more to build a nicer place. Those selfish bastards could probably end up shelving any school-building plans for years since we have this 'new' school we're going to have to rush through."

Reeve was usually one of the most composed people she knew, and it must be really killing him to be so out of control right now.

"Sometimes I think that Shinra had it right. It was a damn cruel empire, but at least they got things done. Bread and games."

"Reeve…"

He smiled wryly at her. "Don't worry. I'm not out to take over the world or become Shinra 2.0 or anything like that. There's actually something else I need to talk to you about."

She did not like the tone of that. "What's going on?"

"That bottle I told you about, the one used to start the fire? It was a bottle of keio nut brandy. We could smell it on the scene."

If Tifa wasn't already sitting, she would have collapsed. The brandy was expensive enough that she was the only known had who had a bottle within a two-hundred mile radius. Blowing out a long breath of air, she said, "It's one of mine."

"You're sure?"

She nodded. "I was restocking yesterday and noticed that a couple bottles of my keio nut brandy were missing. I thought I might have left it in the storeroom, but I hadn't had time to check before everything happened."

"You think somebody's trying to frame you?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. It doesn't make much sense though."

"Who would want to do that to you?"

She snorted. "You really need to ask? I only helped kill a couple hundred of innocents blowing up the Mako reactors, and then Sector Seven…"

She didn't need to say anything more. They both were burdened by the guilt of that particular incident: Tifa because Shinra had been trying to flush them out, and Reeve because he hadn't put a stop to it while he'd been with Shinra.

"There are plenty of people who hate me and rightfully so."

After a long moment of silence, Reeve finally said, "Well, in any case, I have some of the guys at the WRO working on this."

"You've started it up already?"

Reeve had been toying with the idea of WRO, the acronym for the World Regenesis Organization, for a while. Its main goals would be to protect and heal the world as it slowly overcame the aftereffects of Shinra and Sephiroth. Of course, in order to do so, WRO had to have a military branch.

Many people were leery at that aspect, thinking it was too reminiscent of Shinra's SOLDIER program, and Tifa agreed that it would be dangerous. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, after all.

Still, the last time Tifa talked with Reeve, WRO was still a fledgling idea. She hadn't known that Reeve had already managed to start it up.

"Yes, we've gotten an anonymous donor to help fund our needs."

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

"Yes, but I also know that this is the best opportunity we'll get to do this."

"Reeve…"

He shook his head. "Like I said, I'm not looking to start another mega conglomerate. I just want to protect the people."

"I know, Reeve. Just be careful, okay?"

"Of course."

She sighed. Reeve was still sensitive about the fact that he'd once been a part of Shinra's inner circle. He was also sensitive about the fact that he'd once betrayed them. But after everything they'd been through, Tifa trusted him and knew that he really was a good man. Unfortunately, he had this driving urge to prove himself.

Changing the subject, Reeve gestured at Zac and said, "He's a brave man. Reckless as hell, but brave."

A fond smile played at her lips. "I know."

"How're you doing, Tifa? Honestly."

Yes, the million-gil question. "I don't know. Sometimes I'd swear that he's Cloud. The mannerisms and physical ability. Did you know? He ran after me and kept up with me all the way from the bar to the school. How many people can do that? But other times, he's so different."

"So, what do you think?"

Her expression was one of complete misery. "I think I could fall for him."

Reeve's eyes widened, having obviously not expected a confession like that. Slowly and carefully, he said, "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"No, it's not. Because it's me, and I'm not capable of having a normal relationship."

"Tifa—"

"No, don't. After Cloud, I just…_can't_. No matter how good of a guy he is, I can't."

"Tifa, I know you may never be able to get over what happened with Cloud, but you're allowed to be happy. Cloud would have wanted you to be happy."

"I know," she said, even though it was a lie. Reeve didn't know; no one did.

The truth was that Cloud probably wanted her dead more than happy.

…

Oh, la, la, la. So little time, so much disaster to sow. He smiles wickedly. Oh yes. Such a lovely beginning. And it's only going to get better. He can hardly wait.


	7. Chapter 6

**THE KILLING HAND**

CHAPTER SIX

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><p>Zac thinks that if what it takes for Tifa to notice him is nearly getting burnt to crisp, then it's well worth it.<p>

Seeing the burns on his arms and feeling the stinging pain that starts up every time his medication wears off, he's glad that he stopped Tifa from running into the building. The moment he realized that both Marlene _and_ Denzel were trapped inside, he was absolutely certain he'd made the right decision. Tifa is strong and he would never sell her short, but her build is not made to carry two children from a burning building.

Of course, even if it wasn't Tifa trying to get in the building and it wasn't Marlene who was trapped inside, he still would have done the same thing. It just isn't in his nature to let women or children get hurt.

Maybe Tifa is right and he's still got that country gentleman blood in him. He likes the thought of that.

She's fallen asleep by his bedside now, and even though there are bags under her eyes and her whole body looks weary, she's still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

It took him a whole two weeks before he had enough courage to approach her at the bar, and now he wonders why he took so long. Even though she was a little wary at first, she'd been fun and caring and he wants her so badly to be his.

He just stares at her now, taking in the elegant lines of her body, muscles that are tense for action even in her sleep. Her long hair is a waterfall to one side as she dozes with her head propped on a fist. He wants to curl his fingers into that beautiful length of hair, to caress the soft skin of her cheeks, to brush lips with the pale pink of hers.

Maybe…maybe she'll let him. Maybe she'll let this unworthy man be _her_ man.

Even as he thinks it, he's afraid. What does he have to offer her?

Too little.

But still, he can't help but hope.


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: I made a couple of changes to be aware of. First, I dropped the rating down to T. Looking ahead, it doesn't look like there'll be anything to warrant the M rating after all. Second, I added a quote at the beginning of chapter 1 as well as denoted these first chapters as Part I.

Also, this is another two-fer. Click that BACK button. A warning though: Chapter Six is super short and is only a separate chapter because of the POV.

Thanks for the reviews and here's the next chapter!

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><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER SEVEN

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><p>In her somnolent state, the faint rustling of fabric barely registered on her senses. She'd been tired for so long, she felt she'd never catch up on her sleep debt. When she felt a hand gently brush through the ends of her hair, she jerked awake.<p>

Eyes wide open, she caught Zac's sheepish expression and relaxed.

"Zac, you're up!" Well, duh, Captain Obvious. She ignored the sarcastic voice that had decided to take up residence in her head.

"Yeah, I'm up." He smiled at her, and he didn't retract his hand.

She didn't ask him to either, and she wondered why she was comfortable with this small physical connection. She wasn't naturally a touchy-feely person except with kids, so it made no sense that she was okay with it now.

Shaking it off, she told herself it was okay because Zac needed touch to ground him right now. Oh, the lies we tell ourselves…

With a determined smile, she asked "How are you feeling?"

"Okay right now. Though something tells me I'd rather I was unconscious once the meds wear off." He glanced ruefully at the white gauze bandaged lightly around his arms to prevent infection. "I'm going to be molting like crazy."

She smothered a chuckle. "You, uh, kind of already are." She gestured at his face, which had started looking a little flaky like he'd gotten a bad sunburn.

He reached up with the hand that had been playing with her hair, but she refused to acknowledge the disappointment she felt when he drew his hand away. Instead, she caught it in her own to stop him from peeling.

"Stop! You need to let it heal without touching."

He almost pouted and slumped back on his pillows, the move dragging her a little closer since he'd closed his fingers over hers. "Damn. I somehow doubt molting all over myself is very impressive."

She almost blurted out that she thought he still looked attractive as hell to her, peeling skin and all. Fortunately, she managed to keep a lid on her mouth. Instead, she said, "You've already impressed a whole lot of people when you ran into the building."

"Did I impress you?" he asked quickly, and though his tone was teasing, there was something so serious in his eyes that she knew he needed to know.

Drawing her lower lip between her teeth, she had to take a few moments to settle herself before she could answer. "Yes. Yes, you did."

The slow, satisfied smile that spread across his lips should have looked full of himself, but she saw the relief buried beneath it. It made her wonder just who this man was all the more. Since he came into her life, nothing made sense.

All she was certain of right now was that she was in a boatload of trouble. Even worse, she didn't want to,_ wasn't ready to_, jump ship.

"Would it upset you if I told you I'm one of those guys who are obsessed with you?" Zac suddenly asked. At the shell-shocked look on her face, he rushed to amend. "I mean, not in a creepy way. It's just…It's not a good excuse, but I was a soldier during wartime. I've seen things and done things that I'm not proud of."

His gaze was focused on a distant point and her heart—that little piece of flesh that she'd thought long-dead—ached for him. Whatever had happened to him, it'd left an indelible mark on him. Before she knew what she was doing, she'd reached over to place a comforting hand over his. Long-deadened senses came flooding back in a rush and she sucked in a breath at the deluge.

"I understand. I've done things I'm not proud of either." In her mind's eye, images of the demolished Mako Reactor No. 5 and the utter destruction left by the collapse of Sector Seven's support pillar ran rampant. And though she tried to stop her memory from going there, she also saw Cloud's last moments, his proud stance suddenly bowing over by the sword pierced through his chest.

She shuddered and stilled when she felt Zac's turn his hand over so that their palms touched and he closed his fingers over the back of her hand.

"When I see you smile, when I'm the one that puts that smile there…it makes me feel like I've done something good in this world."

The words were quiet, almost murmured, but they were spoken with such reverent awe…

She looked into his worshipful gaze and knew deep down that she didn't deserve his affection. The realization hurt more than it should have.

…

As predicted, Zac was released from the hospital three days later. His burns would take a while yet to heal completely, but as long as he consistently lathered the medical gel on his arms and kept it covered when he went outside, it would be fine.

Denzel went back home with Zac, but Tifa didn't want him to go. She'd attached to him easily, but she was also worried about him. It was obvious that Zac would give an arm and a leg and more for the child, so it wasn't that she thought Zac wouldn't care for him well enough.

It was just…

The dark spot on his forehead still hadn't wiped off.

Concern beat an erratic tattoo in her chest. As much as she didn't want to think it, the recent slew of illnesses that swept across Edge had symptoms just like what Denzel was showing. Black sores on the skin that initially looked like a deep bruise, but that would eventually fester and ooze with black pus. They called it Geostigma in whispers on the street, and so far, it had a mortality rate of one hundred percent.

As for the cause, the best anyone could come up with was that those who had been in close proximity with the Lifestream two years ago when it welled up from beneath Midgar were at highest risk.

Denzel was part of that group.

She shivered and resolved to visit him soon. If he was infected…she only prayed that Reeve's benefactor would be just as generous in finding a cure to the Stigma.

Her other concern was trying to figure out who had stolen those bottles of keio nut brandy from her storeroom and when they could have done it. Aside from making sure she had sturdy locks and a rudimentary security system, she hadn't really bothered with safety measures. She'd relied on her reputation to scare away criminals from thinking of her place as a potential hit, but now she realized she shouldn't have been so lax. This time they'd just gone after her alcohol, but what if they'd gone after Marlene? The thought drove a cold spike of ice down her spike.

She needed to call Reeve and see what they could do about installing a more advanced system. Until then, she'd check and double-check her locks every time she left home.

At Reeve's request, Yuffie had been staying over to help with the investigation. After all, it takes a thief to know one.

Apparently, Yuffie had already been drafted into WRO as their espioniage and intelligence gathering specialist. Tifa supposed it was better that she was under someone's eye but still…Despite all she'd already seen in her young life, Yuffie Kisaragi was still just an eighteen-year-old. Tifa couldn't say that she liked the burdens on her young friend's shoulders.

Right now though, Tifa had to figure out a way to keep Yuffie from investigating into the other problem in her life; namely, Zac Taylor.

Tifa couldn't get Zac off her mind and Yuffie was definitely noticing. That was probably because in the week since he'd been released form the hospital, he wouldn't leave her alone in person either. It wasn't that he was becoming stalkerish. Far from it, he was never around for longer than an hour or two at a time.

The problem was that she'd begun to find herself looking forward to his visits to her bar and missing him badly when he left.

She was ignoring all her own self-made warnings, which was really stupid because that was the whole point of creating a warning system.

But she really couldn't help it. If there was ever a perfect man for her, she couldn't help but think that he was _it_. He was sweetly shy with her, but that didn't stop him from trying to make her laugh. He was warm with strangers, and she was pretty sure she'd seen him escorting an elderly lady across the street the other day. She appreciated that he was open with his thoughts; if he had something to say, he would say it.

Even more, he didn't push her. (The pessimist in her argued that it was just a matter of time before he did.) She knew that he was more than interested, that his feelings for her might be deeper than she dared analyze, but he never once pushed her for more. And that…that threatened her more than anything else because while she could push away anyone who wanted to claim a romantic relationship with her outright, she had a harder time doing it when what they were building was a friendship.

It didn't help her dilemma when she noticed how well he interacted with the kids. She honestly and truly believed that the measure of a man could be taken by how genuine they were with kids. Children often had a sixth sense when it came to adults, and she could think of no one who that applied to more than Marlene. Somewhere between all the events this little girl had already gone through in her life, she was also gifted with an almost scarily accurate sense of intuition.

And so far, Marlene thought Zac was the best thing since sliced bread.

He wasn't a perfect man—for all his country gentleman vibes, he had a vicious alpha male streak—but he fit so well with her, it was almost freaky.

With another mental shake of her head, something she'd been doing non-stop lately it seemed, she swiped up the tray of snacks and drinks to deliver while deliberately ignoring Yuffie's pointed look—which meant something along the lines of "why don't you just shag him and get it out of your system"—that she gave every time she spotted Tifa thinking about him.

Gods above, she was getting good at ignoring things: Yuffie, the emotions Zac evoked in her, _herself_…

It was still fairly early in the evening, so most of the customers were here more for the food than for the alcohol. The regular bar-sitters would come in another hour or so. Until then, Tifa had to brace herself for the wait. And damn if she didn't mean the wait for Zac, and not for business to pick up.

…

As she'd expected (and almost come to rely on), Zac came in complete with his white-gauze-wrapped arms almost exactly an hour later. He usually wore a loose-fitting jacket so that his skin had an extra layer of protection if he was jostled on accident, but today was obscenely hot. She could only imagine how painful the salty sting of sweat would be against his burns.

She took a deep breath to steady the sudden jump in her heart rate, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yuffie rolling hers. Alright, so she was acting totally out of character. What was _wrong_ with her?

She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to that.

Zac took his customary seat at the bar after waving hello to the other regulars. Somehow, in only a week, he'd made a niche for himself among her most loyal customers.

"Hey beautiful," he greeted.

She felt her cheeks flush even as the way compliments slipped from his lips reminded her of Zack. But even then, Zack was open enthusiasm where this Zac was earnestness. He said them not for the sake of flattery, but because he genuinely meant it.

"How's the snakeskin coming along?" she teased.

He grinned back at her. "Molting like a beauty. Maybe it'll even come off in one piece and I can give it to you as a souvenir."

"That's just nasty." She set down his usual bottle of chilled beer and leaned against the counter. "How's Denzel?"

"Good. The little monkey is taking advantage of me."

"I'm sure everything can be traced back to Marlene." She hesitated before asking, "Does he…does he have any marks from the fire?"

He frowned. "Now that you mention it, his forehead is still a little grey. I thought it was some ash that hadn't washed out of his skin, but it's still there and getting darker. Maybe it's a bruise."

Tifa's heart stalled.

It doesn't mean anything.

_It doesn't _necessarily_ mean anything, but it probably does,_ amended the cynical (realistic) part of her mind.

Zac's eyes narrowed on her. Never say that the man wasn't sharp. "Why do you ask?"

She stilled her hands from shaking. "Just…please tell me if he's not feeling well. His parents…I'm partly responsible for his parents' death and I just need to make sure he's okay."

"What do you mean by that?" His voice was suddenly devoid of its usual warmth, and she belatedly remembered that Denzel's parents were also his uncle and aunt. Part of her still thought of him as Cloud, she mused.

"Sector Seven. They died when the Sector Seven plate collapsed."

His tense body relaxed like a cobra uncoiling, but a part of her thought that it shouldn't. So what that it was Shinra who had ultimately brought the plate down? It was Avalanche's previous actions that had brought such senseless retaliation. She was still responsible.

Sensing her sudden despondency, he laid his hand over hers. She didn't realize that she'd been clenching tight fists until he firmly forced her palms open and massaged the white lines that had formed.

"It wasn't your fault," he said and she was reminded of that first night he had walked into her life when he'd said the exact same thing. When he saw that she was about to object, he repeated, "It wasn't. You of all people know what Shinra was like. Avalanche was a convenient scapegoat. Maybe they wouldn't have collapsed the pillar without you all, but the way they'd treated people around the world was equally horrific. They needed to be stopped, and that's what you tried to do."

But she wasn't that noble. Her motives, regardless of what came out of her mouth, had never been about saving the planet from Shinra.

"Even if all I wanted was revenge?" she whispered, not knowing why she spoke the words out loud at all.

"Hey, you all succeeded, didn't you? Saved the world and all that jazz?" His tipped her chin up with his fingers and she clung onto the affectionate gaze in his eyes like a lifeline.

"The ends justify the means?" Distantly, she noticed that her voice was breathy with a hint of anticipation lacing it.

"Something like that," he murmured.

All else faded away into the background until it was just two people bound by an inexplicable link. She noticed him leaning forward and should have been startled to find herself gravitating toward him at the same time. She wasn't. All she could think about was what his lips would taste like.

Would he taste like the wind he drove through every day on his motorcycle? Or would he taste like the connection between machine and nature?

Or would he taste faintly like the lightning materia he always carried?

Their lips touched for the briefest moment and she sighed.

_Cloud…_

He stiffened, and it wasn't until he'd pulled back completely that she realized she'd spoken the name out loud.

The world came crashing back, the undulating waves of voices and clinking silverware shattering her eardrums. She looked around wildly and was stupefied to find that no one had noticed their kiss (if it could be called that), not even Yuffie.

She swung her eyes back to Zac and she felt something shrivel inside. Zac's expression was shuttered and for the first time since she met him, he'd completely shut down his emotions. Even his eyes had cooled to a lighter, frosty blue.

"Zac…" she begun though she had no idea what she wanted to, what she _could_, say.

He shook his head. "It's fine. Really, I understand. It's too soon." He shook his head again and his voice almost broke when he spoke again. "Or maybe it'll always be too soon. I'll always remind you of him."

She swallowed the excuses she wanted to say because in all honesty, he was right. This just proved it.

He must have somehow sensed her response to his unspoken question because she could tell that he was devastated despite the fact that his face just grew stonier.

She knew in the next instant that he wouldn't try for her again.

_Oh gods, don't leave. Please don't leave me. _

She didn't know where the sudden desperation came from nor had she realized how much she valued his friendship. She didn't want to lose this, couldn't lose this step into normality that she had taken.

"Zac, I want to be friends." Even as she said it, she wondered if it sounded as awfully cliché to him as it did to her own ears.

He nodded, but she didn't know what he was agreeing to.

"I'll see you around," he said hoarsely while putting gil on the table for his drink.

"You don't have to—"

He cut her off. "Leave me some pride, please."

She winced and nodded. She tried to think of something to say, but even after he walked out the door, she could think of nothing.

Slender but strong arms draped over her shoulders and Tifa knew that Yuffie had seen everything. In a rare moment of quiet comfort, Yuffie said nothing, only kept her arms around Tifa as her soul silently wept.

…

He is trapped. His emotions swing from one extreme to the next and he cannot trust himself. He does not know what is right. He fears that he has forgotten.

He fears that _he_ is forgotten.

He refuses to be forgotten.


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks for your ongoing support! I never realized before how much fun it'd be to write suspense. I don't know if it makes me a masochist, but it almost makes me giddy to think of all the wonderful hell I'm throwing everyone in. lol.

On a side note, a concerned reader sent me a note regarding my former summary where I had used the phrase "owner-cum-bartender." The reader was concerned about my usage of the word "cum" in the summary. I just wanted to clarify that I was using the original Latin definition, which means "along with" or "in combination with." I didn't intend for it to be sexual or crass in any way. However, I did take it out for the sake of non-offensiveness. Thank you Reader for pointing it out! I didn't mean to offend anybody with my use of it, and I appreciate being made aware of how my wording could be misconstrued.

In any case, with that all out of the way, here's the next chapter. I reference things that are mentioned in both the Case of Denzel and the Case of Yuffie, so if you're curious, you can Google them and have a read.

Drop a review if you please! Thanks!

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><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER EIGHT

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><p>The call came in the middle of the night.<p>

It was a good thing that she was used to of not getting a full night's sleep or else she would have been seriously irritated—more so than she was, at any rate. It didn't help her temper that the reason she'd been getting little sleep lately was because she kept spending her sleeping hours thinking about how she could mend her relationship with Zac.

He'd called her the day after IT happened and promised her that "they were cool" and that he was okay and for her not to worry. But that had been two days ago and Tifa knew that they'd be lying to each other and themselves if they thought they could go back to the easy friendship of before. Some things were irreversible.

She knew that only all too well.

Rolling over in her bed to reach the phone on her nightstand, she took in a deep breath to settle her annoyance before she answered. "Hello?"

"Tifa?"

She jerked up straight in bed. "Zac?" And he sounded like hell.

"Oh god, I don't know what to do." His voice was devastated as it degenerated into an incoherent mumble.

"Talk to me, baby. What's going on?" The fact that she'd used an endearment with him barely registered.

"Denzel." She could hear him swallowing over the phone. "Denzel has Geostigma."

Her stomach bottomed out and it felt like an anvil had just dropped on her chest. No.

Not Denzel.

Her mind raced. According to what Yuffie had deduced based on her experience in Wutai, only those who were faint-hearted got infected. Denzel was one of the most strong-willed people she had ever met, never mind the fact that he was all of ten years old. He was _not_ faint-hearted, so _how_? How was he infected?

Oh gods, that wasn't all Yuffie had said. Death. Those who had been exposed to the Lifestream and believed at any point that they were going to die. The fire. The damned school fire. He must have thought that he and Marlene were going to die in the fire even as he protected and shielded Marlene.

The effort to keep her whimpers quiet had her clenching the bed sheet until her knuckles turned white. She needed to be strong. Zac needed her to be strong right now.

Hoping that she'd managed to make her voice steady enough, she said, "Okay, I'm going to come over right now. You need to tell me where you live."

When he did, she memorized the address and promised to get there soon.

Hanging up, she dressed in a hurry and went over to the room Yuffie was sharing with Marlene. True to her roots, Yuffie woke up when the door opened. She seemed to sense the despair in the air because her expression was unusually serious when she rolled out of bed and into the hallway where Tifa was waiting for her.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Tifa took a deep breath. "Denzel has the Stigma."

"Oh gawd."

"Yeah. I'm going over to Zac's place to check up on them. Can you keep an eye out for Marlene?"

"No worries. I'll hold down the fort."

Tifa nodded her thanks and just before she went down the stairs, Yuffie stopped her. "It's not contagious."

"I know." Tifa paused, then said, "It wouldn't matter even if it was."

Too many thought that it was. Children were abandoned on the streets and families torn apart because people didn't dare touch someone was infected. Never mind that previous attempts to quarantine the infected had done less than nothing to halt the spread of the disease.

Skimming down the steps, Tifa grabbed a medical kit before she left. It wouldn't do much, but she needed something to pretend that she could help Denzel.

But she knew that unless they found a cure, nothing she did would help.

…

The fifteen minutes it took to run to Zac's place was excruciatingly long. She forced herself not to speed up too much. While her body could easily take the pace, it was the middle of the night and there was no reason to ignore safety. In truth, there was little she could do.

Ousting that last thought from her head, she slowed her breathing with the meditation exercises Master Zangan had taught her all those years ago. Within seconds, her mind had settled into that state of awareness in which she saw nothing but sensed everything. She didn't need her physical eyes when she could see just as clearly with her mind.

The familiar sensation of suspending her physical senses soothed her frayed nerves. The past few weeks had been far too harrowing as incident after incident chipped away at her equanimity. Even though she'd known that life wouldn't go on uninterrupted as it had for the two years previous, but once sparked, this powder keg of events just kept blowing up one after the other.

Too much. It was all too much for her to handle.

She shoved the insecurity to the back of her mind once again. Focus.

By the time she arrived at Zac's apartment, she was confident that she had a firm lock on even her more recalcitrant emotions.

She knocked on the door and was surprised when the door opened even though she hadn't heard any footsteps. She was even more surprised when he swept her up into a tight hug, his face buried against the hollow of her neck.

Tifa stood there stiffly for a while, having forgotten what it felt like to be held like she was his salvation. His desperation constricted her lungs and made her want to weep for him. One of her arms went around his waist and her other hand went to stroke soothingly through the hair at the nape of his neck while she crooned soft words of comfort in his ear.

Fraction by fraction, his tense body loosened even though the tightness in her chest wouldn't go away. He pulled back from the embrace even as his hands sought and interlocked with hers.

"Thanks for coming." His voice was hoarse, like he hadn't used it in a while. Or had lost it in a bout of weeping.

"Of course. How's he doing?" she asked as he closed the door and led her to Denzel's room.

"He's sleeping now, finally. He'd been in pain all night long. The sore on his forehead just opened and it's oozing black pus."

His words should have prepared her, but when they walked into Denzel's room and she saw the evidence of the Stigma in person, she couldn't keep the soft cry of injustice inside. If she could have, she would have gladly taken the Stigma from him and onto herself.

Denzel's heartbreakingly pale skin radiated a feverish heat that she could feel even from a distance. His breathing, while slow and deep with sleep, was accompanied by loud rasping as his lungs struggled to take in the necessary oxygen. His face was clammy with sweat and his hair damp. A moist towel draped across his forehead, but she knew that beneath it laid an expanse of once-healthy flesh tainted by infection.

After brushing her fingers through Denzel's hair a couple of times, she stood and led Zac back into the hall.

"When did you find out for sure that it was the Geostigma?" she asked.

He came to stand next to her and slid onto the ground with his back against the wall. She followed suit. "I think a part of knew it since he came home with me after I was released from the hospital. I just ignored it because I didn't want it to be true. I should have known."

"There's no point beating yourself up about it now. Even if you knew for certain before, what could you have done?"

"I know that. I just hate being so helpless when he's in pain."

She didn't say anything because that was true for her too. Instead, she rested her head on his shoulder and threaded her fingers through his as they held silent vigil.

…

Tifa was beginning to dread Reeve's appearances.

She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, from the night before. She'd stayed the remainder of the night in Denzel's room, tending to him while he slept. That by itself wouldn't have been so tiring, but she and Zac had also argued that morning about where Denzel should stay during the course of his sickness. Neither of them was willing to voice the thought that he wouldn't recover.

Zac couldn't afford to stop making deliveries for such an extended period of time and Denzel shouldn't be left alone so Tifa had wanted to take him back to the Seventh Heaven where she and Yuffie and even Marlene could keep an eye on Denzel.

Zac had refused.

Tifa understood the reasoning behind it. Denzel was Zac's responsibility, his only family, and he didn't want to be parted with him. But she also knew that he was letting his emotions make his decision, not his logic.

In the end, she had left him without getting anything resolved between them.

Actually, she did have an idea. It was very simple; Zac and Denzel could both move in. Her apartment had a spare room they could use, and this way Denzel would always be attended. It seemed like the ideal solution.

If she could ignore the danger to her heart, that is.

Day after day of being in such close proximity to a man who already wreaked all sorts of hell on her emotions and her mind was probably not a good idea. Then she chided herself for being so selfish.

If Denzel was being cared for, and Zac could rest easy that he would still see him and stay with him, then what was a little discomfort for her?

Too bad it was so much easier said than done.

And in the meantime, she had to deal with whatever Reeve was about to present her with.

From his expression, it wasn't good news.

With a sigh she felt down deep into the marrow of her bones, she settled into the couch while Reeve took the one-seater diagonal from her. Again, that sense of disaster upon disaster snowballing one on top of another flooded her.

"What's going on this time?"

"We found another one of your bottles of brandy."

Dark tendrils of trepidation curled and twisted in her gut. "Where?"

"City Hall. It was used as a container for poison."

"Poison?" she echoed.

"Liquid rat poison actually. Turns out that when the liquid evaporates, it turns airborne and clings to surfaces. The effects are diminutive over short periods, but we have one guy who happens to be allergic to the toxins. Started swelling up like crazy and getting nosebleeds all over the place. That incident by itself would have been overlooked by itself, but several people reported feeling a little nauseous and dizzy as well. After the sweep, we found the bottle tucked inside an air vent."

"Why would somebody want to poison people in City Hall?"

A heartbeat's pause, then Reeve replied, "I don't think it's the people who are getting hit that's the focus."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. Liquid rat poison, if ingested, could be fatal, but it would take a long time for the poison to evaporate to the point where it would cause mortal damage. The only reason it spread so quickly this time is because the weather has been abnormally hot recently. That means that whoever did this isn't trying to kill people off."

"Just like at the school…" she realized, catching onto what Reeve was suggesting.

"Exactly. So if the victims aren't necessarily the intended target…"

"…then the perpetrator is after something else."

Reeve nodded solemnly and held her gaze. "We think someone's after _you_, Tifa."

She probably should have been upset by that, but right now she was too weary to really care. "Why do you think that?"

If Reeve was put off by her lack of response, he didn't show it. "First, the bottles were stolen from the _Seventh Heaven_. Everyone in and out of town knows that this is your place, and I doubt most people have the balls to try trespassing on your land."

"True, but hardly evidence."

"Second, the bottles stolen are of alcohol that, again, everyone knows only _you_ have, at least in the vicinity. So, like we mentioned before, someone is trying to frame you, or someone is trying to get under your skin. I'm going with the latter."

"Why don't you think someone is trying to frame me?"

"Because we found physical evidence. A strand of hair. White hair. And the cell makeup indicates that it's part Jenova."

This made Tifa catch her breath. How many other people had Jenova in their blood? "Do you have a hit on who the third party may be?"

Reeve studied her, his expression inscrutable. "It's not Cloud, if that's what you're wondering."

She didn't have to say anything for him to know that she was disappointed. She still couldn't give up hope that Cloud was alive and well somewhere. A foolish consideration for someone who had watched him take his last breath and felt it when his heart beat its last.

Suppressing the wave of misery that always indundated her whenever she thought of Cloud's death, she asked, "So what now?'

"Now we hunt the bastard down."

They both knew it was far more complicated than that.

After a long pause, Reeve changed the subject. "How's Denzel?"

"You heard?"

"Yuffie is a megaphone even louder than Cait Sith's."

That wrung a dry laugh from her. "So true." Yuffie was a blessing, and Tifa only prayed that her spirit would never be broken. She sobered though when she thought about Denzel's condition. "Other than the whole infected by the Lifestream mess, he's doing about as well as can be expected. He's a trooper though, and he never complains. I wish he wouldn't try to carry the pain on his own though."

_It reminds me too much of what Cloud used to do_, went unspoken.

"Tell me if there's anything I can do. The WRO is just starting up, but I think we have enough resources to do some research."

"That would be great. Thanks."

"No need. It's the least I can do. Denzel made sure my mother wasn't lonely in the end."

"Your mother?"

"Ruby. After Denzel lost his parents, he wandered around Midgar and happened to come across my mother. She took him in until the Lifestream welled up. She died from the Stigma."

Tifa had known that Denzel had stayed with an elderly woman for those couple of weeks, but she hadn't known it was Reeve's mother.

"Small world," she murmured.

"Yes, it seems there are just some people we can never escape."

Tifa thought his wording was strange, but she couldn't agree with it more. Some days it felt like her whole life had been one long running game, and she was getting nowhere closer to the end.

…

Ah, delicious despair. The city is overflowing with it and he suppresses the desire to dance through the streets sucking up the despondency like a parched man would water. He does not because he will never do anything as undignified as dance. Even still, he is hard-pressed to hide the spring in his step.

Despair: food of the gods.

Or more accurately, he muses, food of the devil.

…

As Yuffie snuck through the Seventh Heaven and into the storeroom (which she didn't really need to do since she was officially "on the case" and all that, but it was more fun pretending that she was breaking in), she reflected on the fact that she really was in the perfect position to investigate Mr. Stud-Muffin-look-alike. Never mind the fact that she was the greatest ninja ever with the most drool-worthy uber-awesome stealthy-coolness, she also happened to be the White Rose of Wutai, fairest princess of all the land.

Shit, but she had some kick-ass credentials.

No wonder Reeve had appointed her as the WRO's espionage and intelligence specialist. She _was_ hella special.

Forcing her wayward thoughts away from her own superiority and back to the case(s), she wondered for the zillionth time who Zac Taylor really was. Despite her usual irreverence for all things established, including government and religion, she didn't believe anything was a result of pure chance. She wouldn't call it fate, but she also wouldn't deny that certain people are led to each other and certain events happen for a reason.

For better or worse, Zac was connected to them all, and she intended to find out how.

It paid to be a princess, albeit a slightly exiled one due to that damned Geostigma crisis and the fact that everyone back home thought that she'd been the one to bring the disease upon them, but at least she still had connections back in Wutai. She should hear back from them soon about Zac Taylor's role in the Wutai resistance soon enough.

Until then, she'd focus on figuring out who the hell was using Tifa's brandy to blow things up and to poison a bunch of stuffy politicians.

Bloody damn waste of some good brandy, if you asked her.

Tifa wouldn't mind if she snuck a sip or two. Or a bottle. She snickered, her darkened mood perked up by the thought of free booze.

If only everything else in her life could be so easily resolved.


	10. Chapter 9

**THE KILLING HAND**

CHAPTER NINE

* * *

><p>Tifa was ready for anything.<p>

Or, at the very least, she was ready to put her sanity on the line. After all, that was what she would essentially be doing if—when—she invited Zac and Denzel to live at the_ Seventh Heaven_ with her (and Marlene and Yuffie, she had to keep reminding her). Having failed to convince herself that this was only about practicality, she settled on reminding herself that she was incapable of having a romantic relationship with anyone.

That soothed the nerves that shot up every time she thought of Zac sleeping in the room next to hers. This whole attraction she had to him was lethal.

She'd call him when there was a break in her flow of customers. Half an hour. She'd call in half an hour.

When half an hour passed, she was embarassingly thankful for the larger-than-usual crowd that kept her too busy to make that call.

She knew it was ridiculous, putting off something that was really nothing, but she couldn't help it. Inviting Zac and Denzel felt too…homey. Too much like a family, and as much as she'd wanted a family in the past (still wanted, if she could be honest with herself for more than a second), she wasn't ready for it now.

Shaking off the thought, she greeted the man who'd just sat down at the down. He was probably in his forties, dark stubbles lining his cheeks and the area around his mouth. His clothing was well-worn and his stocky body proclaimed that he did hard labor for a living.

"What can I get you?" she asked.

"Just a cold beer, if you please," he replied, the drawl heavy in his voice and dragging out the long vowels.

She immediately recognized it as the same accent that Zac had used, albeit much heavier. She set down the beer with a grin. "Did you just come in from Font Condor?"

He gave her a funny look and grunted before replying, "I'm not from Fort Condor, ma'am."

"Oh? I have a friend from around there whose accent sounds pretty close to yours."

The worker frowned. "That don't sound right. People from the Fort don't sound a lick like we do."

Curious, even as a warning flag waved madly in her mind, she asked, "Where are you from then?"

"Gongaga, ma'am."

Tifa's blood froze.

She should've known. She should've recognized it. Snippets of conversations she'd had with Zack during the Nibelheim incident flashed through her memory, and she clearly matched it with Zac's.

That's why the accent had been so famliar. It wasn't because she'd heard it during their travels around the world (although she had), but because that accent was one of the things she would always associate with Zack. Gongaga and Zack. Zack and Gongaga.

Gongaga and Zac?

Even as realization settled in, questions cropped up one after the other.

Why had he lied? What did it mean that his accent was from Gongaga? Did it mean anything? Of course it did. Another coincidence? How many more "coincidences" did it take for something to be contrived?

"You okay, ma'am?"

She forced a smile. "Yes, I'm doing great. Enjoy your drink, sir."

Waving Yuffie over to cover for her at the bar and ignoring the open mouth which she knew was about to spew complaints, she retreated into the storeroom. Her limbs shook with something suspiciously like fear. Unable to stop it, she sank to the ground and dropped her head on top of her knees.

It doesn't have to mean anything.

And you're getting too good at lying to yourself.

This doesn't change anything.

It changes everything.

And that… That truth was undeniable because she now had no idea who in the world Zac Taylor was.

Worse yet, she was afraid to find out.

…

His body jerks as if waking suddenly from a nightmare. He has lost control again. Faintly, he hears the laughing sneer of the brother whose cruelty is unbounded. The other brother does not make a sound, but he can almost taste the cold aloofness that he exudes.

As for himself, he is weary of this tug of war with his body. He just wants to be loved. He _will_ be loved.

_Mother_…

…

Reeve didn't hear the door open, but he hadn't expected to. After all, if he'd heard it, his "guest" wouldn't be who he was.

"Tseng," he greeted sedately, even though he barely saw the dark form lingering in the darkness cast by curtains in his office. However, the shadow—make that _shadows_—that came forward wasn't the Turk leader. "Reno? Rude? Where's Tseng?"

Rude shrugged while Reno began a slow, meandering walk around his office. Reeve knew better than to trust Reno's lackadaisical front as truth. Reeve didn't particularly like the man, but he was a damned good Turk for a reason.

"Boss had an accident."

Though spoken casually, there was a wealth of information in that short sentence. Tseng didn't have accidents. He was probably one of the most anal and controlling men Reeve had ever met. For something to have happened _outside_ of what he'd planned…It was almost frightening.

"What kind of accident?"

"He and Elena have gone missing."

Ah yes. This was precisely why he liked dealing with Rude, if he had to deal with any Turk at all. The man was straightforward.

"How?"

Reno chose this moment to pause in his circuit around his office. "Same way everyone else does, boss. They either pack up their bags and take a hike or some moron nabs them."

Reeve wanted to roll his eyes at Reno, but knew better than to take the bait. "So I take it you're leaning towards their being nabbed?"

That just sounded wrong. Who in the world could kidnap a Turk, never mind their head honcho?

Neither Reno or Rude answered, but he hadn't really expected them to. If they had any ideas, they wouldn't be here asking for help from him. Or in reality, from the WRO.

"I won't let the WRO be a front for Shinra and the Turks," Reeve warned.

Reno shrugged. "Not what we're after anyway. We just want our guys found."

Reeve sat back down in his seat. This was a great opportunity to pay off some of that debt to WRO's "anonymous" donor. He wondered sometimes if they thought he was an idiot. Of course he knew that Rufus Shinra was footing the bills. He wasn't completely sure about the why of it, but he knew that it was more than pure altruism. A man's nature didn't change _that_ much.

Reeve had taken the donations with the mind that Shinra wouldn't have any real control over the organization. WRO was operating as a non-profit, so there wasn't any way Rufus could buy out the shares, since there were none. Sure, there was always the danger of what would happen if Rufus withdrew his funds, but hopefully the WRO would be established enough to hold its own should that ever happen.

"I need to know what happened to them."

"Mission to the Northern Crater. Helicopter went down and now we found the remains of the heli, but no signs of Tseng and Elena."

Reeve's eyes sharpened on Reno. "What were you doing in the Northern Crater?"

"Irrelevant," said Rude.

"No, it's very relevant. If I'm going to be sending men there, I need to know what they might expect to encounter."

Reno and Rude exchanged a long look before Reno sighed. "We're researching the Geostigma and it led us to the Northern Crater."

Reeve wasn't sure whether he should have been surprised or not. On the one hand, it made sense for them to study the cause and possible cure for the Stigma. Hell, it even made sense from a financial viewpoint. If they found a cure, they could charge an arm and a leg for it.

But somehow Reeve got the impression that their research had to do with more than simple economics.

Tucking away the information to be examined later, he made a decision regarding the Turks. "I can send out some people to begin searching. The question though, is what will we get in return?"

Renoand Rude glanced at each other again. "Information, boss. Information."

…

_We need to talk_.

At least that was what Tifa's brain kept telling her to say, but when Zac showed up that night with Denzel and two duffle bags in tow, she let them in and helped them settle into their room without a word.

Somehow, after her breakdown, she'd still made the call to have them come over. Denzel's situation hadn't changed, and now Tifa needed to take advantage of the circumstances to figure out just what the hell Zac Taylor was up to.

A part of her felt bitter and betrayed. She didn't trust those feelings because it meant that her emotions had already been engaged on a level beyond friendship, but they prevented her from spiraling into another collapse—something she was desperate to avoid—so she accepted them regardless. They gave her strength.

And now she was sitting up on her bed, wanting to go over to care for Denzel, but also not wanting to face Zac. She wondered when she'd become such a pansy.

Zac was apparently braver than she was because he knocked on her bedroom door. Then again, he didn't know he should be worried.

"Tifa?"

Stuffing her despair into a small box and tossing _that_ into the dusty, cob-webbed, police-tape-offed section of her mind, she opened the door for him.

She tried, oh she _tried_, to harden her heart against him. After all, he'd lied. And the possible implications of his deception made her want to lose a meal. But maybe someone had cursed her with a weakness for spiky blonds with blue eyes because the majority of her righteous anger faded when she saw how exhausted he was.

Without saying a word, she stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. His body immediately sagged on hers, and while he was careful to keep most of his weight off of her, it was obvious that right now, he needed her strength. In return, though his arms were still swathed in bandages, the warmth of him sank deep into her muscles and soothed tense knots there that she hadn't known existed. How they'd already gotten to the point where their needs and strengths balanced each other so well was a mystery.

_You're lying to yourself again_, whispered that too-oft hushed-up conscience of hers.

A long while passed before either of them moved, but eventually Zac pulled back. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Thank you."

"I haven't done anything."

"You've done everything."

And that scared her because his voice told her he truly believed that. All her life she'd wanted someone—_one_ someone, in particular—to want and need her as much as this man did, but now that she had his devotion, she was afraid of it.

She needed it to end. Right now.

She stepped away from and kept retreating until she was in the middle of the room while he was still standing by the door. "Zac, stop. You are a great guy, but I can't. I really just can't."

He took a step toward her, but she took an equal step back. "I'm not asking for anything, Tifa. I understand. I really do. You need time and space. But can't you just let me be there for you anyway?"

She shook her. "Zac, that's just it. It's not fair to you. And like you said before, I won't ever have had enough time and space."

"I don't mind waiting."

"But I do. I'm not going to ruin another good man."

"You're not going to ruin me."

"I don't want you to waste your time on me."

"I think that's my choice to make."

"No, it's not," she replied stubbornly.

With an incredulous look, he stepped toward her again and practically growled when she moved away. "Damn it, why are you doing this, Tifa? Why are you burying your life like this?"

"I thought you said you understood," she taunted.

"I understand if you want time. I can give you all the time in the world, but what I don't understand is your plain refusal. Are you that afraid to live?"

Anger flooded through her at that. She'd been fighting the urge to just give up and die for years. People could rightly accuse her of many things, but this wasn't one of them. "You have no right to say that."

"Don't I? Then tell me what the hell is going through that head of yours!"

"I don't have to tell you anything."

He actually growled this time and again the image of a predatory cat filled her mind. "B fucking S. Why do you refuse to be happy?"

"I am happy."

"No, you're not. You're surviving, but you're not happy."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know that you feel guilty for no reason!"

"It's not for no reason!"

They were both breathing heavily, but at that, Zac's tone abruptly changed into something so gentle, so tender, that it shattered her already broken heart. "Then tell me."

"I can't," she whispered. "I just can't."

Tired. So tired. The weariness that had been plaguing her for these two years spread like molasses through her veins all over again.

She needed sleep, but knew that the sleep of this physical plane could not sustain her for long. Perhaps Vincent had been right all those weeks again. What she needed was absolution. If so, hers was a lost cause because she would never be absolved. She refused to absolve herself.

"Tifa." Zac's voice was close, too close, and once again she was stunned by how quietly he moved. He made to embrace her again and this time she didn't try to stop him. Too tired. Too weary of everything. Too emotionally exhausted.

She let herself soak in the heat of his body, to lean against the hard planes of his muscles because she would give herself one moment, this one slice of eternity to take in his comfort. After that, she had to give him up.

She was damned, and she didn't deserve to have him.

…

Marlene was universally acknowledged as too wise for a six-year-old. Marlene herself didn't quite understand this (why can't six-year-olds be smart?), and when people said that she was precocious, she took it to mean that they'd pronounced "precious" wrong.

She _did_ understand, however, that she saw things no one else did. Not in the "I see dead people" kind of way. (Even though the first time she'd seen Zac, for some reason she didn't bother trying to understand, she'd thought he was supposed to be dead. Oh, and the pretty flower lady didn't count either because only her body was dead and her soul was a pretty, pretty pinkish-white.)

Nope nope. Instead, she was "perceptive." She wasn't exactly sure what that meant either, but she knew it was better than seeing dead people.

Still, sometimes she got the impression that she scared people even more than if she had a freaky ability like that. She didn't understand adults, even if she liked them very much. Especially her daddy. And Tifa. And Zac. And Yuffie.

Right now though, she was careful to dodge said adults so that she could sneak into Denzel's room. Tifa said that Denzel was sick and not to bother him, but Marlene wanted to see for herself. The flower lady had been sad today and Marlene somehow knew it was because of Denzel's sickness.

She didn't like it when people were sad, especially nice adults like Aerith.

She was also worried because Kimmie down the street said that her brother Greg hadn't come home for two whole days. Marlene needed to make sure that Denzel didn't disappear.

"Denzel!" she whisper-called from the door.

He didn't respond, but he shuffled on the bed a little.

Her eyebrows knit together. Denzel never ignored her. Never.

She scrambled up onto the chair that was pulled up between the two twin-sized beds. Denzel's eyes were screwed shut and his expression looked like he was in pain. Marlene didn't like it when her friends were in pain either.

She put a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. "Denzel."

Slowly, as if each millimeter took an enormous amount of effort, Denzel pried his eyes open. His features pulled into a frown when he saw her. "Marlene, you're not supposed to be in here."

She frowned in response. "Well, that's not nice, you big meanie."

"It's not 'cause I don't want you here," Denzel quickly amended. "But I might be contagious."

Marlene hesitated as she pondered over the meaning of the word "con-tay-just." In the end, she gave up and decided it must just mean something bad. "Well, I don't care if you're 'con-tay-just.' I'm your friend and that means I get to stay here no matter what."

Denzel didn't bother trying to argue. At ten, he was smarter than most grown men in that he didn't try to make sense of Marlene's logic. He knew very well that boys weren't supposed to understand girls.

"Well, just make sure you're gone by the time Zac comes back." She looked at him like he was an idiot for even thinking she didn't know better. Ignoring that, he asked, "Where _is_ Zac?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. I didn't see him. Maybe he went into Tifa's room."

_They need help_.

Marlene wasn't alarmed by the soft voice that suddenly spoke. She and the flower lady talked a lot. Without hesitating, she said, "Come on, let's go see."

"I'm not supposed to get up."

"It's just down the hall. Come _on_. The flower lady said so."

Denzel hesitated. He knew that Marlene sometimes talked to this "flower lady" but he still hadn't decided whether she was real or an imaginary friend. Marlene didn't have any other imaginary friends, and for the most part, she was too practical and down-to-earth to have an imaginary friend. But, for all that, she _was_ still just a six-year-old.

When Denzel didn't respond quickly enough, Marlene jumped off the chair with a huff. "Fine then. It's not my fault if Zac and Tifa don't like each other anymore and you have to move away."

With a groan and heavy movements, he tossed aside his bed covers. If Marlene was this manipulative now, he dreaded what she'd be like in the future. Too bad she was his favorite girl.

* * *

><p>AN: Woohoo! And the Turks make their entrance. Fun stuff. Thanks for all your feedback so far! It's only going to get more bumpy from here, so hang on and enjoy the ride!


	11. Chapter 10

EDIT (6/22/2011): Took out the original author's note here. Upon further consideration, it was really pointless and not needed.

In any case, hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think!

* * *

><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER TEN

* * *

><p>One second Tifa had been in Zac's arms taking in as much comfort as she could to last for a lifetime, and in the next, his lips had been upon hers in a fury.<p>

Shocked out of resistance, she felt herself falling into it far too quickly. Mouths parted and heads slanted, tongues slipping and sliding against one another in a frantic battle for _something_ she couldn't name. Hands roamed over heated bodies that were pressed so tightly against one another that she couldn't tell what belonged to whom. Beneath her fingertips, strong muscles bunched and shifted and it was with distant surprise that she realized her hands had slipped beneath his shirt to touch bare skin.

She didn't—couldn't—spend much time wondering about that fact because her hair was fisted around one of his hands and he was pulling her head back to give him access to the sensitive skin of her jaw and neck. His mouth was hot there and it sent a tingling burn all along her limbs and drenched her in mindless bliss.

It'd been so _long_.

He was desperate; she was desperate, and the fire that blazed between them was even hotter than the one that burned down the school.

Really, she shouldn't have been surprised at this intensity because this moment had been building since she first laid eyes on him. What _was_ surprising was the overwhelming feeling of rightness, that being in his hold was exactly where she was supposed to be. That wasn't just surprising; it was damned frightening.

It was enough to give her the strength to shove him away roughly.

"Stop." She didn't recognize her voice so roughened by passion.

As if snapping awake from a trance, Zac cursed under his breath even as he put more distance between them. "I promised myself I wouldn't do this. Damn fucking shit! Bloody fucking idiot!"

The coarse words pouring out his mouth surprised her. In the short time she'd known him, he'd always been nothing short of courteous. She watched him warily as he paced back and forth in the small space of her bedroom.

Finally, he seemed to have come to a conclusion because all of a sudden, he was all up in her personal bubble again. Disturbingly, rather than feeling annoyed like she normally would have, Tifa was filled with a sense of giddy anticipation fueled by the recent memory of his strong body tight against hers.

At this moment, he exuded danger, and she _reveled_ in it.

"Tell me you feel it too."

"Feel what?" she asked as steadily as she could, even though her voice sounded thready even to her.

Confused? Check. Consumed by a burning lust she had no place to feel? Check that too.

"This! Us! This sense of knowing each other better than we know ourselves. Tell me you feel this connection too."

The heat that had filled her limbs so completely and made her head feel so heavy suddenly chilled because she _did_ feel it. And the last time she'd felt this, this sense of having found her soul mate, it had ended in tragedy. She refused to repeat her past mistakes.

Steeling herself, she stiffened her spine and wiped all traces of that almost-overwhelming desire from her face. She had to make this convincing, both to Zac and to herself.

Then she opened her mouth and lied. "No. I don't feel it."

Zac narrowed his eyes at her, and for once, she almost felt afraid. "You're lying."

The accusation stung because it was true. But Tifa hadn't spent these years in self-denial and guilt for nothing. "You're one to talk about lying."

"What are you talking about?"

"Where's your accent from, Zac?"

"I told you, Fort Condor," he replied indignantly, but this time, there was a thread of uncertainty stringing through. It was enough to spark her temper.

"And you're still lying to me. I know it's not Fort Condor. I met one of your fellow townspeople today. And surprise, surprise, he's not from Fort Condor, but _Gongaga_. Why did you lie?" His hesitation cost him because now Tifa was armed by righteous fury. "Who are you? Did you lie about that too?"

"Damn it, Tifa, calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down. I want the truth. No more of these half-lies. I need to know."

Zac thrust a hand through his already-mussed up hair, and if she weren't so angry, she would have blushed over the fact that _she_ had made that mess. Dimly, she noticed that his bandages had started to unravel and that she would need to fix them later.

Much later, if she didn't get any answers now.

Finally, he took in a deep breath and stopped pacing. "Alright, so I lied about where I was from."

Even though she'd already known, the admission was like a punch to her gut. It was one thing to know; it was another to hear from his own lips.

"Why?"

He shook his head. "Damn it, Tifa. You have to know by now that I would do anything for you." He stopped her before she could interrupt. "No, you wanted to know, so here it is. I've been in love with you for so damned long, but I knew I didn't—don't—have a fucking chance with you because I look like _him_. Do you know how much that hurt _me_? Add to the fact I have his face that I also come from his best buddy's hometown?"

Grasping onto anything wrong with him she could, she argued, "How do you know about Zack at all? We don't talk about him much."

His eyes narrowed at her and she felt the chill of it down to her bones. "I told you that I was 'one of those guys.' I meant it. I love you so fucking much, it hurts, and at the time, I thought the only way I'd ever feel close to you was by learning more about you. I didn't think, okay?"

Already, Tifa could feel her anger melting into panic. Anger was easy to handle; the notion that he'd done all this just to have a chance with her? Oh gods, she couldn't stand it. Swallowing against the incoming hysteria, she struggled to hang onto her ire. "So you decided it was better to lie?"

"What was I supposed to do? I just wanted to have a chance to make you happy. I wouldn't have even had a shot if I'd told you everything in the beginning."

Which was true. Not that he had a shot now. She couldn't let anyone close to her like that anymore. She'd only end up hurting him.

They were at a stalemate and they both knew it. Unstoppable force? Meet immoveable object.

It was probably a good thing that Marlene and Denzel chose that moment to enter the room. They both glanced from one to the other with such an expression of fear that it tore at her bruised heart all over again. Kids didn't need to hear the arguments of adults, and they were obviously already worried about what had happened.

Tifa paled at the thought of what they might have caught if they'd come in only a few minutes earlier. She couldn't decide which was worse: their fighting or their…kissing.

"Tifa?" Marlene's voice was quiet and her big brown eyes questioning as she let go of Denzel's hand to wrap her arms around Tifa's leg.

"It's okay, sweetie." She brushed a hand over Marlene's head, smoothing the loose strands of hair that had escaped her braid. "What are you doing in here?"

Just as Marlene was saying, "The flow—" Denzel cut her off. "I don't want to be a burden."

She froze in shock. Oh gods, what kind of child has that kind of burden on his shoulders? Tifa's vision blurred and she closed the distance between them until she was kneeling before him. "Denzel, you are not a burden. You have never been a burden. I'm glad you're here and I want you to stay here. I don't ever want to hear you saying that again. Do you understand?"

His grey eyes were stubborn, but he nodded slowly. "If you're not arguing about me, then what are you fighting about?"

She closed her eyes and hugged him tight. Gods, they'd heard them after all. She wasn't sure whether she should be relieved that he hadn't heard her accuse the only family he had left of lying, or heartbroken that Denzel would ever think himself unwelcome. She sometimes forgot that between the time his parents died and Zac finding him, Denzel had been left alone for several weeks to fend on his own.

"Oh honey, sometimes adults aren't very smart, and we argue when we should really be talking things through. But know that what we were arguing about had nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with you."

She felt Zac kneel down next to her and for once, she wasn't overwhelmed by the heat of him brushing against her. She pulled back from Denzel so that he could see Zac, but kept her hands on his thin shoulders.

"Tifa's right, little man. Adults don't always make sense, but no matter what happens, you're stuck with us. You got that?"

Again, Denzel did his solemn nod. After hesitating for a slight moment, he asked, "So, no more fighting?"

Tifa hesitated. What kind of answer could she give? She didn't want to fight, but truth was, she and Zac were due another explosion sooner rather than later. She didn't want to lie to Denzel, not even in this.

In the end, Zac saved her from having to say anything. "Denzel, we'll promise that we'll try real hard not to fight anymore, but we can't promise we won't ever fight again. It probably shouldn't be, but family members fight with each other all the time. And we're family, aren't we, little man? Family might fight, but we never ever give up on each other."

Even as Tifa's heart stuttered on the word "family," she knew that the last part had been directed at her. Zac wasn't about to give up on her. It took her a while to realize that the assurance relieved more than horrified her.

Just then, Yuffie popped her head in and her expression would have been comical if Tifa didn't have a whole other mess to deal with. "Y'ello. Did I miss the memo for the party in Tifa's room? That's just not right. I mean, there's no such thing as a party without the Great Ninja Yuffie."

Thankful for the interruption because everything was suddenly bogged down with hidden meanings, Tifa stood and wiped the nonexistant dust from her shorts.

"No, no party. I _do_ have a couple of rebels who need to get ready for bed though," she said as she gave Marlene and Denzel her you-better-do-it-or-else look.

"Pft. It's not even ten yet. Let the kids live a little."

Tifa leveled her gaze at Yuffie. After having spent those many months as both Yuffie's older sister and friend during their trek around the world, she knew exactly which look to give that would make Yuffie listen. It was the one she'd used right before she handed Yuffie her ass after the whole stealing-materia fiasco.

Yuffie threw up her hands. "Geez, fine, be that way."

Tifa thought she caught her throw out a "slavedriver" somewhere in her muttering.

Yuffie paused by the doorway after she ushered the kids into the hall. "Oh by the way, Zac buddy? You might want to mop up that glop of black goo you just dripped on Tifa's carpet." Her tone was flip, but a thread of concern lay just beneath.

In unison, Zac and Tifa looked down on the floor and saw the nasty black stain. Heart thudding wildly in her chest, her gaze travelled up his body until it rested on his left. Most of the bandages had unravelled, but the pieces that hadn't clung to his arm in a wet, black mess.

With a shaking hand, Zac tore off the rest of the bandages and let them fall to the floor. Neither of them cared where the bandages landed. All they could see was the large black infection that crawled from his upper arm to his elbow. His recovering burnt skin glared brightly red underneath the black until the combination created a disturbingly demonic effect.

"Oh God."

She wasn't sure which of them had spoken, but the words broke through her daze in a rush. Her legs felt like globs of jello as she stumbled to Zac's side. Instead of catching her like he normally would have, he stepped back, still clutching his arm and staring at it in horror.

"Zac."

"No, stay away." His breathing was erratic. "I didn't know. I didn't even suspect… God damn it, I thought the pain was from the burns healing."

Her mind scrambled as she struggled to make sense of this. "No, it doesn't make sense. Yuffie said that only those who lost hope, those who think they're going to die get infected. You can't, you didn't…"

"No, I didn't think I was going to die. But it doesn't fucking matter how I got it. Shit, I gotta get away."

"No! What are you thinking? You have to stay here with Denzel!"

If he heard her, he didn't show it. "I gotta go. What if I'm contagious? I can't spread this to you or Marlene. I can't hurt you."

How could it be that even now, his first thought was of her?

Frustrated and with tears stinging her eyes, Tifa tried to close the distance between them, but he again moved away. Gods, she hated this sense of déjà vu. And to think that just minutes before, _she'd_ been the one dodging away from him. It was annoyingly humbling.

"Zac, listen to me. Geostigma isn't contagious. Even if it was, Denzel is already here. You're not going to infect us anymore than we already are. Stay with us. Please."

When he locked gazes with her again, there was a wildness there that shocked and frightened her. Even worse, she could see his irises flashing from deep violet to crisp, ice blue to that goddamned cat-green and back again. But what scared her the most was the resolve she saw in those eyes. He was determined to leave, determined to leave _her_.

Tifa didn't know why she suddenly felt so betrayed. She'd been the one who insisted that whatever this _something_ was between them that it wouldn't, couldn't be anything more. She'd been the one to deny any closer connection.

But now that Zac had the Stigma and his being taken away was suddenly a very real possibility, she found herself wondering why she'd ever tried to push him away.

"Zac, don't leave me."

There was a war waging in his mind, but when his jaw locked and his eyes solidified back into their beautiful dusky blue, she knew she'd just lost him.

Voice rasping, he finally spoke. "I'll…stay in touch."

And with that, he left her with nothing but the black essence of evil festering on her bedroom floor and a painful void where her heart should have been.

…

When he comes to, his thoughts are fractured just like they are every other awakening, but for the first time in a long time, he is not plagued by the constant pull of voices clamoring to be heard. It's foreign, this silence, and he's been immersed in a pit of chaotic sounds for so long that the utter quiet makes him uncomfortable.

He doesn't quite remember how to laugh—even a mocking one—but if he could, he would have scoffed at himself. How ironic that insanity seems normal to him now. How very pitiful.

He does not have time to dwell on the poetically twisted nature of his mind. The voices will come back, and when they do, he will be overcome and forget. He cannot forget. He must remember.

This is his revenge.

* * *

><p><strong>PART I FIN<strong>

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><p>AN: Dun, dun, dun...And so ends Part I. Leave a review and make sure to hang around for Part II!


	12. Chapter 11

A/N: I reference some American pop culture stuff in this chapter. For the sake of practicality, let's just say that the Final Fantasy VII world shares our pop culture, mkay? Also, I'm just about to wrap up my internship in China and need to take care of things for my next step in life, so updates in these next couple of weeks may be sparse.

Thanks again for all your reviews! I know you have a lot of questions, and they'll be answered sooner or later (some sooner and some later). ;)

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><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

* * *

><p>PART II<p>

"Reality is merely an illusion, although a very persistent one."

– Albert Einstein

* * *

><p>CHAPTER ELEVEN<p>

* * *

><p>A couple of weeks ago, Tifa was dreading the utter normality of life because things were bound to go to hell sooner than later. Now she remembered why she should have taken advantage of the peace offered to her before chaos reared its ugly head again.<p>

Why hello Mr. Murphy. Would've appreciated it if you'd skipped the party.

God, she was flipping insane.

Zac had come back only once in the last week and even then, he'd kept his distance. The only one of them he touched was Denzel. She knew his reasons—could even understand them—but the knowledge didn't stop reality from hurting.

She hated this—the maelstrom of emotions that swirled and twirled and ate her alive. She didn't even have Yuffie to distract her since she'd taken off somewhere to investigate something. The young woman hadn't been very forthcoming, and Tifa hadn't thought to ask at the time.

Tifa's restlessness was pervasive though she tried to not let it through when she tucked Marlene and Denzel into bed that night. Marlene had wanted to move into Denzel's room, and Tifa agreed. Now that Yuffie was gone and Zac not coming back either, it made sense for the two children to keep each other company. She didn't put voice to the thought that she wanted to make sure someone kept an eye of Denzel so that she would know at the first notice of his condition worsening.

Tifa smoothed Marlene's hair from her forehead after taking it out of it braid, when Marlene spoke up in a small voice. "Tifa?"

"What is it sweetheart?"

"Is Zac not coming back anymore?"

Tifa glanced over at Denzel to see if he'd heard the question and was thankful that he was already fast asleep. The Stigma drained him of his energy far too quickly, and he didn't need the extra concerns about Zac to weigh so heavily on him.

Threading her fingers through Marlene's hair to brush out the tangles, she replied honestly—she could do nothing less for a little girl who's already seen too much evil in the world. "I don't know, sweetie. I do know that he doesn't want us to worry about him."

Marlene's brows furrowed as she thought this through. Whatever conclusion she came to must have been insufficient because the scowl deepened. "But we're even more worried since he's not here."

So true. "Adults aren't always very smart."

Tifa thought the subject was closed when Marlene didn't say anything else while Tifa finished brushing her hair. But when Tifa kissed her on the forehead and Marlene's eyelids fluttered shut from inevitable sleep, Marlene said one last thing. "I don't wanna grow up if I'm gonna be stupid like that."

Despite the situation, Tifa smiled. From the mouths of babes.

…

If Yuffie heard that goddamned brogue go off on its "Pick up the phone, lassie" mantra one more flipping time, she was going to pitch her phone over the rails of the _Shera_ without a second thought. In reality though, she was probably too weak right now to do anything but say hello to her last breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Of course, the order that they came back up was probably more like dinner, lunch and breakfast. And then another dinner just for kicks.

She moaned loudly and hung her head between her knees. Freakin' airship. Freakin' motion sickness. Freakin' Zac for being a freakin' shady character.

When her dry heaves subsided momentarily, she finally cut off Cait Sith's annoying voice by flipping open her phone. What a stupid idea to record his voice as Reeve's ringtone. She'd thought it hilarious at the time, but now she just wanted to send the mechanical cat and its voice-box to the nearest mechanical trash dump.

"What?" she asked sharply, though it came out as more of a muffled groan.

"Yuffie? What's going on? You haven't checked in in a while. Have you found more information about the school and City Hall case yet?"

Why thanks for asking how I'm feeling, Reeve, even though I probably sound like I've been through hell and back again.

"Fuck off. I'm currently puking my guts out on my way to Wutai. Don't bother me again unless it's a dire emergency. And I mean freakin' dire. Like, end of the world dire."

She snapped her phone shut again. Reeve might be her kinda sorta boss, but _no one_ messed with Yuffie when she was sick. Gawd, this trip better be worth it. She might kill someone if it's not.

Then again, she might decide to disembowel Cait Sith—how would you remove the innards of a mechanical toy? Strip its wires?—for the hell of it anyway.

Her stomach lurched again as the airship dipped. Shite. She was adding Cid to the list of people she was going to murder slowly and painfully.

…

"Yo, sis. How's life?"

Tifa looked up at the voice and automatically spotted the wild mane of fiery red hair barely restrained by the goggles he wore on his head and a hair tie low on his nape. Her gaze drifted to take in the fashionably rumpled suit before jumping to survey the tall and silent man, who wore his customary immaculate navy blue suit and dark shades, walking in next to him.

Reno and Rude. They were like Batman and Robin. Except she'd never been able to figure which one was Batman and which one Robin. Rude had the physique to be Bruce Wayne and the unsettling presence to be the dark phantom, but Reno had all the charisma and was clearly the leader between them.

Gods, had her trail of thoughts always been this inane?

She shook her head and tried to seriously assess their presence.

She wasn't sure if she was happy or tense to see them. Even though she'd mostly come to terms with their role in the destruction of Sector Seven, seeing them always sparked a pit of guilt deep in her belly. But that was a different time and a different place, and the optimist in her—though beaten-down and mostly overwhelmed by the growing pessimist—wanted to believe that they were different people now, just like she was.

In the two years since Meteor, the Turks and Rufus Shinra had been flying pretty low under the radar. As far as she knew, they were done with all their mafia-like machinations, but she hadn't been actively keeping tabs. They'd maintained a mostly "you don't bother me and I don't bother you" approach, and she was fine with that.

Still, it felt strangely…good to see people who had been involved and had known firsthand what had happened in those few crucial months when the world's fate hung in the balance. It almost made her want to grab some beers, kick back and reminisce.

Or maybe she really was mental.

Maybe that was why she felt a genuine smile touch her lips as nodded her head in acknowledgement when Reno leaned against the bar counter and Rude grabbed a seat. "Reno. Rude. What can I get you boys?"

"Vodka on the rocks," Reno replied. Rude nodded in agreement.

"Coming right up." After she served their drinks, Tifa took some time to study them again. Although Reno was his usual blasé self and Rude, well Rude like always showed about as much expression as Vincent did, a certain tension hummed through both their bodies. "So what's going on? I doubt that you're really here just for the drinks."

"Babe, you're more than enough reason for any man to be here." Reno smirked licentiously.

Tifa merely raised an eyebrow at him, but before he could make some other stupid remark, Rude spoke first, "We have issues and need help."

Tifa was put on guard at once. The Turks were asking for help? Slowly, she asked, "What kind of issues?"

Reno shrugged and though the motion shouldn't have been so graceful on someone who looked like he didn't give a fig for his appearance, it was. "The kind that needs someone people trust to sponsor us."

Tifa wanted to roll her eyes. Damn Turks were always so freaking ambiguous. Dryly, she said, "Don't bore me with all the little details now."

"Ah well, it's not exactly something we'd want to talk about in public, sis," he replied even as his sharp blue eyes betrayed his nonchalance and darted around the crowded bar. Something serious must really be up.

Just another day…Where was her _normal_ now?

"Hey Tommy, can you cover for me for a little bit?" Tifa asked after waving over the part-time bartender she'd hired several months ago.

"Sure thing," replied the young man, a boy really, who was in his late teens.

Technically, Tommy was still a little too young to _drink_ alcohol, never mind serve it, but his parents had died during the Meteor crisis. She'd run into him when he was dealing drugs in the alley behind Seventh Heaven (something that she knew no one dared to do now), but even then she'd seen something intrinsically good in the kid. She couldn't do much for him, but at least the steady income he received from her kept him off the streets.

He was a good kid, and Tifa trusted him and the other waiters/waitresses she'd hired (most of them also of the life-fucked-me-up-badly variety) to keep things in order.

Motioning to Reno and Rude, she led them up to the living room. Reno, she noticed, knocked back his drink before following. Not one to waste good alcohol, that one.

Waiting until they were all seated on the sofas, she leaned forward. "Alright, now spill."

Predictably, Reno started with a question. "Have you noticed anything strange lately?"

What, you mean other than the rampant epidemic sweeping through the population and the fact that someone was using her brandy to blow up a school building and poison the city council? Oh and that a man showed up who looks exactly like her would've been/could've been lover?

Irritated, she responded sharply. "Cut the crap, Reno."

"Yeowch, sister. You know, if you need a tumble, I'm here for you babe."

She didn't dignify that with a response, and though she couldn't tell for sure from behind those dark sunglasses of his, she could have sworn that Rude just glared at Reno.

Reno held up with surprisingly elegant hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'm just sayin'…"

She shared—at least she thought she did—a glance of commiseration with Rude.

It was strange. She'd always sensed a kind of empathy from Rude. Of course, that might have been expected. Aerith and Yuffie had teased her mercilessly that one time they'd overheard that infamous conversation about whom the Turks all had crushes on. She'd tried to muzzle them, but she could really only do so much without breaking their jaws, which she'd been severely tempted to do. Her only consolation was that Aerith had gotten pulled into it too with the mention of Tseng.

Turnabout is fair play. Wonderful rule.

Thinking of it now, Tifa was glad that she could think about the good memories she'd had with the last Cetra without that feeling of profound guilt to taint them.

"Come on Reno. You need help, and right now you're not saying anything that's making me inclined to do so."

Reno studied her for a long moment and she speculated over what he saw. She felt like a harder person than she used to be and wondered if that came through. Whatever the case, Reno finally decided to get serious.

"Kids are going missing."

In a very familiar sensation these past weeks, her stomach bottomed out. "Who, when, and how?"

"The who are mostly the at-risk kids, aging from around eight to fourteen."

"Most? How many are we talking about here?"

"Our last count says twenty-three in the last month."

"Twenty-three?" Tifa exclaimed. "How has no one noticed?" How had _she_ not noticed?

"That goes back to the who. Most of these kids are orphans, or have family who doesn't give a shit what happens to them. Nobody reports them missing because nobody even _knows_ who they are."

"Then how do you know?"

"Some of the kids that have gone missing in the last week or so have been reported by concerned family members. We traced the cases back from these recent kids. The profiles have changed slightly, but they all have the one thing in common." She noticed Reno squeezing and releasing a fist, as if he was working out some stress. Interesting. "Both the new WRO and the local authorities are up to their elbows in shit and don't have the extra forces to investigate this. And to be honest, many of these cases have been put on the back burner because everyone thinks the missing kids are already dead.

"What do you mean?"

"That one common thread? All these kids are infected with Geostigma. The police force, or whatever the hell you want to call them, don't want to waste their resources on what they think are just bodies outside a death bag."

Tifa sat back as she processed through all this. It was all so…callous, and she couldn't help but thinking that it was a damn cold world they'd sacrificed so much to save.

Then her eyes narrowed. Last time she checked, the Turks weren't into altruism. "Why are _you_ all so interested? I somehow doubt you've developed a soft spot for at-risk kids."

To his credit, Reno didn't flinch at the accusation and replied honestly, "No, we're not. We were just following the trail because of the Geostigma."

"And why are you concerned with that?"

"Does it matter?" he countered.

"It does if you're thinking of using the kids to experiment on."

At that, even Rude frowned while Reno grimaced. "Damn, sister. That's cold, even for us."

"Yeah, well excuse me if I remind you that Shinra doesn't have a good track record in that arena."

Reno leaned back into the cushions and crossed one foot over the knee of the other in a deceptively relaxed pose. "All you need to know is that we're not looking to hurt the kids. We want to get them back, if they're still alive that is. In that, at least, our goals are the same. That's all you really need to know."

Somehow Tifa doubted that. But, she also knew that the Turks were professionals for a reason and that she'd already gotten more out of them than she'd expected.

Besides, now that she'd had some time to think it over, she realized that she _had _heard of some of the kids gone missing. Just last week, Marlene had mentioned how her friend's older brother disappeared without a word. She knew Greg, and though he was young, he was also extremely responsible. He wouldn't have left Kimmie by herself like that.

"Okay, say if I do agree to help, what am I agreeing to?"

The gleam of triumph that lit up Reno's eyes annoyed her, but she let it go momentarily. Right now, there were missing kids to hunt.

"I'm guessing you know a lot of these kids through Marlene, and people trust you, what with you being one of the whole saviors-of-the-planet thing. People don't let us get close enough to question them, and we can't get a good picture of what happened to the kids before they went missing."

"So you basically need me to do the interviews."

Reno nodded. "There's actually not too many people to talk to. Like I said, most of these kids don't have family, but the ones who do…well, let's just say Shinra and the Turks ain't their best friends."

Now _there_ was an understatement if she'd ever heard one. Most people hated their guts, and Tifa couldn't help the spark of compassion she felt for them. What was it like to be hated and reviled like that?

Faced with that kind of daily resentment, Tifa might have folded long ago. The Turks were stronger than she gave them credit for. Then again, it might just be that they'd already sold their souls and truly didn't give a damn. But Tifa knew better. It was slight, but she could hear the genuine concern Reno had for these kids. It made the decision easier to make.

"Alright, I'm in. But I want to know the _instant_ you find these kids. And I want to see them in person."

"Suspicious little chit, ain't ya?" Reno smirked, even though she caught a hint of respect in those hard-to-read eyes of his. Sometimes the brightness of the blue in his eyes reminded her so much of Cloud's. Then again, everything reminded her of Cloud—and Zac—these days. "You got it. Here's the list of kids gone missing. Let us know what you find out."

"And you swear you're not going to use these kids for anything?"

"You're like a friggin' terrier after a bone, sister. You have our word," Reno said as he stood. Under his breath, he added, "Whatever the hell that's worth to you."

In that quiet sentence, she heard a wealth of guilt, and her burdened conscience recognized a like soul. For all that Tifa tried to keep an open mind about the Turks, she realized that she'd never truly believed that they had any human compassion aside from their obvious fraternity. But maybe they weren't really the cold-blooded killers she'd always seen them as. Hell, she remembered times during their journey when they'd actually helped. Or at least hadn't hindered.

Maybe it really was time to let bygones be bygones. Standing up after them, she held out a hand. "It's enough. And thank you for telling me about this. I know you're here to get my help, but I needed you guys to tell me what was happening in my own city."

Reno studied her outstretched hand like it was a book written in a language he didn't know. After coming to some unknown conclusion, he plastered on that come-and-have-hot-sex-with-me smirk and shook her hand. "Like I said, babe. You need a good tumble, I'm here for—"

The rest of his sentence was cut short by Rude shoving him from behind. "Shut up and let's go," rumbled Rude in that raspy, underused voice of his. Reno winked at her as he went down the stairs, and Rude paused just to say, "Thank you" before following.

It made her smile in return. Turk or not, Rude always had damn good manners. At least when he wasn't trying to beat the shit out of her friends.

How interesting life could be. Her heart felt lighter than it had in a while, and it was the Turks of all people to give her this peace. Or maybe it was because they made her confront the past and acknowledge that most people were not black or white. So many shades of gray made up the spectrum, and that realization relieved some of her guilt.

At least, the guilt she'd still been holding onto over Sector Seven. As for the other guilt she hoarded up in secret, no amount of gray shades could wipe that away.


	13. Chapter 12

A/N: A little shorter than usual, but I absolutely had to cut it off where I did. Though, you won't be thanking me for it. hehehe...

Thanks for the reviews and onward we move to this next chapter!

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><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER TWELVE

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><p>By the time Tifa finished talking with the fifth "family" on the list, her heart was so sore, she wondered if she'd ever recover.<p>

Reno had conveniently forgotten to mention that the kids who had family usually had it in the form of only one other living member, sometimes a mother or a father, but most of a time, it was a brother or sister. As it was, the missing child and his or her remaining family were literally each other's life lines. It brought reality into sharp focus.

Such desperation! It made her realize how blessed she was in spite of everything. She had no blood relatives left, but she had friends who were like family to her. These kids and their families, especially the ones with only a sibling left, had _nobody_ else. That's why they were such easy targets.

There was no longer any doubt in her mind—if there'd been any in the first place—that these kids had been targeted. She didn't believe for a second that they'd simply disappeared to die on their own. There was something sinister about this whole thing, and she hated that it was children who were being hurt.

It was so disgusting that these predators always chose the weak to prey upon. Not that it would be any better to go after those with a big happy family, but why would they take away the one person in the world who means the most to someone else? It was a cruelty added upon cruelty.

Tifa looked at the name of the sixth and last "family" on her list. Mariana and Tabitha. Tifa knew them personally. They'd come over to visit Marlene and Denzel at the Seventh Heaven more than once. The two girls were actually identical twins, and many people could only tell them apart by the fact that Tabitha always held onto a ragged stuffed moogle doll. According to the Turks' report, Tabitha was the one who'd been taken.

With a weary sigh, Tifa studied the small hovel that was supposed to pass for an apartment. The girls lived with their guardian, but other than giving them a place to stay, the bastard might as well not exist for all the good he did. And even this "apartment" was more hell than home.

A thick film of grime that blanketed the whole building, and several of the window panes had been replaced by wooden slats nailed across the openings. Rust and brown-colored spots stained the walls like morbid decoration, and an arid rot permeated the air.

No human should have to live here, never mind two eight year-old girls.

Grinding her teeth, Tifa made her way through the dilapidated building and up the cold concrete stairs until she stood before apartment number 301. After her third round of knocking, the door finally croaked open a couple of inches.

Her gaze dropped several feet when she realized that she was seeing glimpses of a dirty kitchenette and no face. When Tifa saw the forlorn expression on Mariana's face, she almost wanted to cry herself.

"Hello Mariana. Do you remember me?" she asked in as gentle a voice she could.

The little girl hesitated momentarily before nodding. "You're Tifa."

It was so strange. Despite their dismal living conditions, Mariana and Tabitha used to be two of the liveliest children Tifa had met. To see her now so subdued was a blow she wasn't ready for.

"That's right. Do you think I can come in to talk for a little bit?"

Mariana shifted uncomfortably. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"It's alright, Mari. You know I won't hurt you. I want to ask you some questions about Tabi. She's gone missing, right? I want to find her, but I need your help."

Small teeth sank into tender pink flesh as Mariana bit her lips. Tifa could tell that she wanted to glance over her shoulders to check on her uncle, but the little girl refrained. God knows how many and what kind of wheels and gears were spinning in her young head right then.

Finally, she relented. "Can we go outside?"

"Of course."

The door shut and Tifa heard the rasping of the door chain before the door opened again, this time to let out a small slip of a girl. Her clothes, while not dirty or torn, were noticeably threadbare and whatever color they used to be, they were now washed-out shades of gray.

Silently, they worked their way back out to the front of the apartment building, and Tifa was struck anew with the horrorible reality in which so many young children had to live.

She reflected on how lucky she'd been to have had Barret take her in. It felt like she'd been so much older back then, but in reality, she hadn't been quite sixteen when she'd woken from her injury-induced coma, only to find herself orphaned, alone, and with nowhere to go in the rough underbelly of a strange and heartless city.

So easily this coud have been her. It steeled her resolve to get to the bottom of this.

The two of them walked over to a nearby stairwell and sat down side by side. For a whilte they said nothing and just let the silence wash over them. Again, Tifa was hit by that strange sense of camaraderie. That feeling of being alone in the world was a poor thing to be connected by, but there it was.

"Can you tell me what happened the day Tabitha went missing?" Tifa asked when Mariana didn't look as uncomfortable.

Mariana frowned in thought. "We went to school as usual. Tabi waited for me outside when while I went to the bathroom. I came back out and Tabi wasn't there anymore. I looked all over the new school building, but I couldn't find her."

"What happened after that?"

"I thought that Tabi was playing hide and seek with me. We used to do that at the old school before it got burnt down. I got angry with her when she didn't come out for a long so I decided to play a trick on her by going home first and leaving her at school." Mariana's eyes welled with tears. "I shouldn't've gone home by myself. Mama and Papa used to tell me that I was supposed to look out for Tabi because I'm older by a whole thirty minutes."

"Oh honey, it's not your fault." Tifa put her arm around Mariana's shoulders and hugged her close. "How did you know to tell the WRO?"

Mariana sniffed a couple of times and Tifa marveled at her strength. "I didn't know. Tabi didn't come home that night and Uncle Tim didn't even notice. When I went to school the next day, Mr. Reubens asked me where Tabi was since we're always together. I didn't want to tell him because I thought he'd be mad at me, but he made me tell. He wasn't mad at me, and he went to tell the WRO."

Thank God for people like Scott.

"That's right. Mr. Reubens wasn't mad at you because there's nothing to be mad at. Was there anything strange that happened? Or maybe, did you see anyone you didn't know?

Mariana shook her head. "Not that I can remember."

"How long has Tabitha been missing now?"

"Six days now." A pause and then, "We were gonna go look for fairies. We thought…we thought that maybe if we found one, we could have one of our wishes come true."

She knew it wouldn't do her heart any good to ask, but Tifa couldn't stop her mouth from forming the words. "What did you want to wish for?"

"A real home." Mariana shrugged like it was no big deal, but Tifa knew better. There was a whole world of suppressed desires hidden in those three little words.

Tifa rested her cheek on top of the girl's head. She couldn't do much, but what she could and _would_ do was find Tabitha—no matter the cost.

…

Oh shit. This changed everything. Oh shit, oh shit, ohshitohshitohshit!

What should she do? Yuffie knew what her initial impulse was, and that was to kick that spikey blond ass to the moon. After she fed him his own insides of course. But somehow she didn't think that would be the best idea right now.

Oh gawd, what was she going to do? Tifa was going to flip out; no way she wouldn't, and Yuffie didn't want to be the messenger who got her face pummeled because she delivered bad news. But she couldn't _not_ say anything.

Shit, shit, shit. Damn that effin' spiky-headed moron for putting her in this position!

What to do? What to do?

She abruptly stopped pacing when the perfect answer came to her.

Vincent. Nobody broke bad news like Vincent did. At least…he had that air about him that prevented people from wanting to take a swing at him. Yuffie wasn't ashamed to admit that Vincent had a better chance of surviving a bad encounter with Tifa than she did. Yuffie had a finely tuned sense of self-preservation, thank you very much.

Okay, great. Problem solved. Now she just had to find where good ol' Vincent had holed up this time and have a little talk.

…

Tifa wondered if her subconscious was trying to tell her something when, after her interview with Mariana, she found herself standing outside Aerith's chuch in what was left of Sector Five. It was fitting that the church's building was basically the only one left unrazed. Even in its derelict condition, the church was an iconic symbol of hope.

Sometimes she wondered if hope was really good. After all, wasn't false hope more destructive than reality?

Without really understanding why, her body carried her to the imposing front doors of the church. Scenes flashed through her mind when she lifted her hand to rest against the rough wood—memories both good and bad, but the ones that occurred the most often were the images of Aerith's death.

As if the past two years were but a second, Tifa could clearly see the small, knowing smile that had graced Aerith's lips before that demon-blade sliced through her. Then a soft gasp as the light in her emerald green eyes blinked out, and then there was red. Blood was everywhere, in her hands and in her hair, in her clothes and in her heart. Aerith was bleeding. Or was that her?

Tifa couldn't tell anymore because the violence of Aerith's death was trumped only by the gore of _his_ death. And suddenly she was in the Northern Caves again and more blood (always blood) flowed around her, flooding her and choking her with its metallic sting.

She wondered how much longer she had before the last of her sanity left her.

Stop. Stop. You've lasted this long. Don't give in now. You have a mission now. You have to find those kids. Focus.

Slowly, excrutiatingly so, Tifa dragged herself out of the mire of her memories and stared sightlessly at the innocuous doors to a church that silently condemned her for her sins. There was a reason that she'd avoided the church these two years. In light of the guilt on her shoulders, she'd been afraid that she'd find only censure beyond these doors. A part of her knew this was faulty logic, but she couldn't help herself.

Taking in a deep breath, she forced her hands to push open the doors of the church. When they creaked open with a loud squeak, Tifa found the moment to be oddly anticlimatic. It wasn't as if she'd been expecting some large fanfare or anything like that, but for some reason, she hadn't anticipated the…peace that filled her veins.

In slow, measured steps, she made her way inside the church and found that little had changed in the intervening years. The solid wood frame was still standing strong, the stained glass windows still cast beautifully tragic images on the pews and on the floor, and a patch of wild lilies still stretched stubbornly before the altar. She briefly wondered how they were flourishing without proper care, but decided that what Aerith had said those many years ago still held true: the church was a holy place.

When she reached the edge of the flower bed, she crouched down and brushed her hand over the petals of one of the white blooms.

Beautiful. Pristine. Innocent.

Three words that Tifa no longer had any claim to.

Standing back up, Tifa turned slowly, her gaze soaking up every little detail. She lamented why she'd been so afraid to come here. She could almost feel Aerith's spirit here, and it struck a chord of loneliness that had everything to do with losing the first real female friend she'd had.

Then her gaze landed on a corner of the church that had been made into a temporary camp, and her thoughts stalled. Her feet brought her shocked body to the camp—which was really just a sleeping bag, a lantern and some camping utensils—and she stared uncomprehendingly at the pile of black-soiled bandages.

Unmistakably, those were stains from the Geostigma. As for whom the camp belonged to…

_Is this why I'm here, Aerith? To see this?_

She suspected that her heart had known for a long time the truth that her mind refused to accept.

But now…now even her mind could not deny the facts.

Because in addition to the signs of somone camping out in the church and the bandages, there was one more object there that drove a jagged pike through her heart. Her eyes traced the sharp edges with aching familiarity as memories upon memories (of blood, of honor gone wrong, of hatred) rushed to the fore.

No, there was no denying this.

Just then the sound of booted footsteps echoed ominously within the church's vaulted ceilings. She didn't need to look to know whom they belonged to.

The footsteps paused when he saw her standing there, and then they started again with a hurried pace. Something about the way she held herself must have warned him off however, because he stopped again about ten feet away.

The silence that stretched between them was severe in its unnatural stillness.

"Zac, tell me again." She lifted her gaze to direct a hard stare into those deceitful violet eyes. "Who are you?"

His gaze was inscrutable. "Tifa, what's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Who are you?"

"You know who I am."

It was meant to be an assurance, and Tifa couldn't stop the bitter laugh that escaped her.

"You're right. I do know you." She glanced at the tell-tale object once more before looking back into his eyes.

"I _do_ know you," she repeated, then deliberately added, "_Cloud_."

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><p>AN: *whistles innocently*


	14. Chapter 13

A/N: Sorry about the long wait. The last couple of weeks have been filled with all manner of traveling and crazies, and I only arrived back in the States last week. Anyhow, thank you SO much for the overwhelming response from last chapter. I know I left you all hanging, but at least the true Cloud/Tifa fun can begin now! :)

Warning: Cloud is a bit of a jerk in this chapter, but I promise there's a reason for it. Just hang with me for a little longer. Also, there are a couple of F-bombs and some vulgarity in this chapter. I don't think it warrants an M, but I just wanted to throw the heads-up out there.

Anyhow, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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><p>Zac—Cloud, whoever the hell he was—held his body so still that he could have passed for a statue if not for the faint flickering of his eyes. They did nothing but stare at each other for the longest time.<p>

"Why are you calling me that?" he finally asked.

She shook her head, and gestured to his camp—more specifically, to the giant sword that was propped up against the wall. "We never went back to pick up the Buster sword. We couldn't have. The path down was blocked. Yet somehow you have it now?"

Tifa wondered how she could have believed that Zac and Cloud were different people. True, Zac had a complete history, but whatever lies he'd told could not take away the truth of _him. _He was Cloud; he'd always been Cloud.

He didn't say anything, and that made her angrier than anything. "That's it? You have nothing to say? How long were you going to fuck with my head, _Cloud_?"

He lowered his head, and his whole body tensed as if his muscles were coiling for a strike. Then he raised his head back, and he speared her with a viciously amused look from out of bright blue eyes. The kind of clear blue that only one person in the world had.

She barely swallowed the unintelligible sound that escaped her lips, but she couldn't stop her hand from slapping over her mouth in alarm. She'd already suspected, but to see it…She felt like he'd shoved his hand into her soul and _wrenched_.

There he was. After two years of guilt and longing and self-hatred, he was here. Alive.

"Hello Tifa." His voice was the same. He'd never tried to change it, but where Zac had always addressed her with kindness, all she could hear from Cloud was a barely-veiled resentment. "I'm impressed. I didn't think you'd look here."

"Why? Why would you do this to me, Cloud?" She knew that she sounded devastated and she didn't care. She _was_ devastated.

"You should know better than anyone _why_. You're the one who betrayed me first."

"I didn't betray you; I _saved _you!"

"Huh. Interesting concept of saving you have there. I didn't think turning my own sword on me qualified."

"Yes! I had to save you from yourself!"

"Bullshit. Lie to yourself all you want, but you know you feel guilt because you _are _guilty."

Strange as the logic was, Cloud had a point. She wondered if she'd been burdened with so much guilt these two years because subconsciously, she knew that she'd been responsible.

She quivered inside, and the pain, oh gods the pain!

Clenching her fists, she ground out, "I feel guilty because I wish I'd been strong enough to help you fight it—because I plain wasn't _enough_ for you."

"Pretty words. So do they help when you see yourself betray me in your nightmares?"

Tifa's breath caught because the truth was that no. They didn't help. They didn't help at all.

She wanted to sink to the floor and just lie there. Lose herself in a fantasy world where Cloud didn't think she'd betrayed him and where she truly _hadn't_. But life was not a fantasy. Not even close. And the only thing she could do was force herself to keep pushing through.

Tifa's heart was torn between anger and disbelief. Had he come back just so he could take this twisted vengeance on her? Was he even himself anymore? A smaller voice wondered if he ever _had been_ himself.

She shook her head. "So what now, Cloud? Does nothing else matter but revenge?"

_Do I matter, even a little?_ The words were unspoken, but filled the space between them heavily.

Cloud scoffed. "What else should I care about? The last time I tried love, it stabbed me in the back."

The deliberate pun did not escape her. At one point, she would have been ecstatic to hear the word "love" come from his lips in reference to her, but now…now it was just a tragedy. And she was so weary of tragedies. She was weary of it all.

"You don't have to keep bringing it up."

"Feeling guilty?"

No, just tired, she thought.

Tifa's eyes narrowed as she thought of something. "I know you don't care about me anymore, or if you do, it's tainted by this hatred, but what about Denzel? Was your concern about Denzel a lie too?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Tifa relished the flood of anger that burned off the guilt and filled her with strength. She would have been concerned for the ecstasy that her anger sparked in her, but she couldn't care right now. All she knew was that her world had come crashing down on her all over again.

"You left Denzel with me, but you obviously don't trust me. So did you even care one bit for him if you were willing to leave him in the hands of your 'enemy'?"

It was gratifying to see Cloud momentarily stumped, even if it was an empty victory. So maybe he still believed that she wouldn't harm a child, but what did it matter when he refused to see, to remember why she'd done what she did?

Driven by frustration, she relentlessly continued her verbal assault. "For that matter, is there even a real Zac Taylor?"

Cloud stilled, then shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure there was. Convenient how his name was Zac, wasn't it? I thought you'd appreciate that."

She could feel herself shaking, but whether it was from anger, or desolation or any combination of them, she couldn't say.

Cloud continued, "His history is mostly true. The only difference is that he met with an…unfortunate accident before he arrived in Edge."

Tifa felt her stomach drop to her toes. "Accident? Did you kill him?"

She thought she saw the very edge of Cloud's eye tic, but she couldn't tell why. He relaxed his shoulders. "And if I did?"

Tifa suddenly felt like crying. It was stupid because the Zac Taylor she knew had obviously been a lie all along, but she couldn't help but mourn his loss.

"I don't know who you are." Her voice was soft, but it resonated loudy within the walls of the church.

For once, his expression cleared of that hurtful mocking until there was just this confused sadness. "Apparently, I didn't know you either."

They stared at each other and in those timeless minutes, a sea of love, hate, and everything in between thickening the air. It was strange. Tifa had dreamed of Cloud coming back so many times even though she hadn't thought it would ever happen. But now that it had…It felt like he was further away than he'd ever been before.

"I regret the way I had to…," she couldn't bring herself to say the actual words, "…the way I had to do it, and I can even understand why you'd think I betrayed you. But, Cloud, understand that I don't regret what I did. I _can't_ regret it." She paused for a long time before adding, "Do what you will with me, but I will warn you: if you dare hurt Marlene or Denzel, I don't care if you think I owe you a life, I won't let you get away with it."

Then, for the first time in her life, she walked out on him.

…

Tifa wondered if it was better to have a bleeding heart or none at all.

Right now, she was leaning towards the latter. At least with no heart, she wouldn't be dying from the inside out.

Should she thank Aerith for showing her that Cloud lived? Or should she hate her for shattering the few good memories she had of him with the reality of his hate?

Even worse, Tifa realized that nothing really changed since the last two years. Sephiroth was dead—supposed to be just like he was supposed to be last time—but who knew what was going on in Cloud's head? Other than those moments in the Lifestream when she'd seen his innermost thoughts and memories, she was finally coming to the understanding that she'd never really known him.

She'd known many different _faces_ of him, but which one was real? Were any of them real? All of them? None?

Maybe Aerith had been on the right track the time she'd mentioned that she wanted to meet the _real_ Cloud Strife. Maybe Tifa had been the one who'd been too distracted by the name "Cloud" that she'd failed to look past appearances.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Sometimes she felt like all she knew were maybe's and what if's.

The problem was she didn't know what her next step should be. Did she tell everyone that Cloud was alive?

Well of course she had to, but that would mean confessing something she'd buried in the deepest parts of her heart all these years. The thought was frightening.

And then what about Denzel? What was she supposed to tell him? That the cousin he so obviously loved and respected and practically hero-worshipped was nothing but an illusion? God, that would break the little man's heart, and she didn't want to be responsible for shattering another's dreams. It was one thing to have her own expectations thrown in her face; she couldn't do that to Denzel.

By the time she returned to the Seventh Heaven, she still had no answers. She didn't think she'd ever get any.

However, the moment she stepped through her doors, she knew that something is not quite right. There were no signs of danger, but the goosebumps on her arms rose.

She knew why a second later when she spotted Vincent's trademark red cape. He was sitting at her bar, his body still as a statue. Of course, statue-like was Vincent's way.

Regardless, as Tifa approached him, she knew enough to worry about his presence now.

He turned his profile toward her when she was about five feet away. "Tifa," he nodded.

Tifa took a seat next to him and returned the short greeting. "Vincent." Then, because neither of them were really interested in prevaricating, "You know you're always welcome here, but something tells me you have news I don't want to hear."

His lips twitched the slightest bit. "Astute as always. As you may be aware, Yuffie has been researching into Zac's background."

Actually, she hadn't been aware, but she wasn't surprised to hear it. It was good to know that not all of them had fallen into complacency. Or maybe she'd been the only one.

She nodded for Vincent to continue.

"She recently made the trip to Wutai to hear from her contact in person."

Well, that solved the mystery of where she'd gone. Then she sighed, "It's not like you to drag out the moment like this Vincent."

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. Then he let the bomb drop. "The real Zac Taylor is dead."

Well, it was obvious why Yuffie wasn't the one telling her this. She probably figured Tifa would have had her head, and so she'd recruited Vincent for the job. Typical Yuffie. Smart, but typical.

Unfortunately, this information would have been a lot more useful two hours ago.

Tifa sighed deeply, feeling the tiredness weighing down the marrow of her bones. "I know."

At this, even Vincent raised an eyebrow.

"I ran into him earlier today. At the church." She paused before saying, "He has the Buster sword."

That was all she had to say, and she knew it'd stunned even Vincent into speechlessness. Not that he spoke a lot anyway, but that was beside the point.

"So Cloud lives." It was a statement, a question, and an inquisition all at once.

Tifa knew what he was asking, and even more disturbing, it seemed like he'd already deduced what had happened. "Give me some time, Vincent. If possible, I'd like to do this only once."

He nodded in acquiesce. "Very well. Shall I gather everyone?"

She blew out a long breath. "Yes."

She wanted to add something else, but realized that Vincent was nothing if not tactful. He knew how to go about things without saying too much yet just enough. All that was left for her was to wait. And prepare.

They sat in companionable quiet for a while. Tifa appreciated that she'd never had to put on a façade for Vincent. She enjoyed the honesty of his silence. If anyone could understand the burdens she carried, it'd be Vincent.

Maybe that's what made her ask, "Vincent, are sins ever forgiven?"

"I've never tried."

"Hn. Never tried…" She thought about that for a moment and didn't think it was right. "You should, you know. Try, I mean."

"As should you."

Of course Vincent would call her out on her hypocrisy. She shook her head. Forgiveness at this moment seemed too much like a foreign concept.

In any case, she had to figure out the mystery that was Cloud Strife. If she could find a way to save his soul, then maybe…maybe that could be her true forgiveness.

…

If Tifa thought to have a moment to compose herself before having to face her friends, she would have hoped in vain. Fortunately, Tifa had long ago ceased to trust in the deceptively innocuous notion of hope.

Thus when she heard the familiar rumble of Zac's—_Cloud's_—motorcycle outside her doors, she wasn't all that upset.

Well, she was, but more so because she had yet to come up with a good way to break it to Denzel that his cousin, his _hero_, wasn't who he thought he was. And God knows that Tifa knew all about false heros and broken promises and the pain that remains.

Life didn't give her time to contemplate the dilemma because Cloud was coming through her doors, and in the five seconds she took to compose herself, he was suddenly standing right in front of her.

His presence was so right and yet so wrong.

"I'm taking Denzel," he stated without preamble, and his tone told her that he expected no arguments.

No greetings, no derision even. Just…a command. As if that she wasn't worth his time. It grated on her in all the wrong ways.

"No, you're not," she replied immediately and she knew that her body had subtly shifted itself to a more defensive stance.

His eyes narrowed and a part of her was so grateful to see the pure ice blue of them again. "Yes I am. You have no right to keep him here."

She snorted at that. "Like you have any more right to take him with you? You're not Zac, so it's not like you're really family."

His jaw tightened just a fraction, and she wondered incredulously whether he'd thought he could take Denzel away without a second thought and a single argument. "I'd think you know better than anyone that blood only does not a family make."

"True, but you're the one who lied to him from the start. You're going to break his heart and that's all on you."

Surprisingly, he actually smirked at that. "Ah, so by your logic, _you_ really don't deserve to have _any_ 'family' considering all the lies you've told."

She couldn't help physically recoiling. That was a low blow and one she hadn't thought he'd take, especially considering the circumstances. But then again, current circumstances were that he was filled with this misguided self-righteous fury.

Even still, she couldn't deny his words. And the truth of that was humbling. "Maybe I don't," she finally replied softly.

Her response visibly confused him, and she could have sworn that his muscles tensed as if he were about to wrap his arms around her to comfort her. Wishful thinking, she knew, and the moment was gone in the next instance, if it had ever been there at all.

Maybe Cloud felt bad for touching a nerve, but whatever the case, he changed the subject back to Denzel. "I'm taking him. He knows me."

"That's a terrible argument if you're trying to convince me, Cloud. He knows this beautiful illusion of you, but he doesn't _know_ you."

He must have found something seriously offending in that because his lips sneered in a way she hadn't expected to see on him. "You would know, wouldn't you? How much this 'beautiful illusion' of mine isn't _me_? But of course perfect Zac Taylor would be the perfect man for perfect miss Tifa Lockhart, wouldn't he? Nothing at all like the real Cloud Strife."

Too many underlying insinuations layered his words and by the time she finished navigating through them, she wondered if it was possible she'd come to the right conclusion. Because logic claimed that Cloud's response was one of _jealousy_.

Cloud took her silence completely the wrong way because his sneer just deepened and the contempt in his voice grew more prominent. "He was convenient though, wasn't he? Such a perfect hero, running into burning buildings and saving children and sacrificing himself so that he wouldn't infect you with the Geostigma."

Tifa's confusion grew. He talked about Zac as if he were actually a different person. But even more than that, it made her see, hope—no, don't hope—that maybe Cloud wasn't as far gone as she'd thought him to be. She couldn't believe that those actions had all been planned beforehand. She refused to believe that.

Then the truth remained that Cloud's core was still as good as before, still untouched. Despite herself, she began to hope.

"—a real life hero. And since I was dead, you could just move on to the next idiot to make a hero out of. You could forget the real me ever existed. All you ever wanted was a pretty-boy hero, wasn't it? Did it excite you to make up stories about him? Did you touch yourself thinking about how your made-up hero would take you?"

Tifa drew back a hand and punched him hard enough across the jaw that it sent him stumbling back against a table. "You bastard," she seethed, her voice trembling with a combination of restrained wrath and bitter, bitter pain. So much for hope. Stupid, stupid fool. How many times would she let her heart get ripped out of her chest before she learned? Hope was for dreamers who could afford to have their heads in the air. Not her. Never her. "You fucking bastard. Did it ever occur to you that the reason I fell so easily for Zac was because he reminded me of _you_?"

Apparently, the thought never had occurred to Cloud because his eyes widened in surprise. He began to reach for her—maybe it was an unconscious move, or maybe even he realized that he'd gone too far—but she stepped out of his reach.

"Get out."

_Get out now before I start crying and I can't stop_, she begged him in her mind.

"Tifa…"

"Get out! Leave! What don't you understand? I want you out of my house!"

Everything froze in that moment, and even in her desperation to keep the tears at bay, Tifa recognized that she'd done something she'd never done before. She'd denied him, banned him from her home. She'd erected a barrier between them when she'd spent so much of her life trying to bring it down.

She'd drawn a line and her heart felt colder than ever.

* * *

><p>AN: And yes, I know I hijacked ACC lines that were supposed to be Cloud's, but Tifa is my central character that I have going through unresolved guilt, so I felt it more appropriate to give them to her.


	15. Chapter 14

A/N: Finally! An update! I don't know why I always seem to hit a mental block at around 40,000 words. Yeesh. Well, that and the fact that I got side-tracked by _Tales of the Abyss_. Hehe... Anyhow, this is another short one, but it's made up for with the next chapter.

Enjoy and thanks so much for all the support!

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><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

* * *

><p>Rubbing his possibly fractured jaw, Cloud admits to himself that he'd gone too far with the last statement. He sees the fury in her eyes, but it is a thin veil for the hurt that she always shoves so deep inside of herself. He cannot stand it when she hurts, though he hates himself for caring. Even still, he hates himself more for being the one to hurt her.<p>

"Get out."

Her voice is strong, but he can hear the desperation she tries so hard to hide. He could break her right now, and rather than filling him with satisfaction, it makes him feel like a thousand showers wouldn't rid him of the disgusting filth that is him.

"Tifa…" He reaches for her even though he isn't really sure why. This is what he wanted isn't it?

_Fool!_ mocks a voice (one of the many) in his head. Fool? Because he's gotten this close to revenge and suddenly he can't stomach the fact that he's hurt her (again)? Or because he's been ignoring that part of him that only wanted to hold her tight and never let go?

He's torn, and suddenly black and white is nothing but a blur of gray.

And then he hears her next words and all he can think is that everything is wrong, _wrong_.

"Get out! Leave! What don't you understand? I want you out of my house!"

His lungs might as well just have been pulverized by a sledgehammer for all that he can breathe. It doesn't help that his supposed-to-be-dead heart feels distinctly _sore_. Somehow, this wall between them suddenly feels…permanent, an official "you're not welcome here." And he inexplicably wishes that he isn't on the wrong side of the line.

He'd thought that he would be able to steel his heart against her—hell, he'd thought that he didn't have a heart at all—but this tightness in his chest is all too familiar.

Failure. He has failed her again.

His body overrides his mind and he moves toward her. Before he can take a step however, a small body flies at him and rains tiny-fisted punches on him. It takes him a full ten seconds to realize that it is _Denzel_ who is trying his best to pummel him to oblivion.

Cloud stands frozen as yells full of anger and frustration fills the air and he distantly hears Tifa's surprised and _dismayed_ gasp. Does she really think that he would hurt Denzel? Then again, it isn't as if he's done anything recently to make her think otherwise.

Cloud lets the boy vent his anger, and though he worries that Denzel is using too much of his energy on this, he also knows that the boy needs it. Denzel deserves this, and Cloud deserves it too, if for completely different reasons.

Soon enough, Denzel's adrenaline-fueled strength drains, and Cloud notices that Tifa is quick to come over and pull the boy into her arms.

There's one way of getting her to come near him, he thinks sardonically.

Tifa strokes a comforting hand through Denzel's hair and he can see that his skin has grown clammy with cold sweat. He'd definitely exerted too much just now. Denzel isn't done though. As soon as he's caught his breath, he turns fuming eyes at Cloud. "You lied."

Cloud hadn't been certain how much Denzel had overheard, but obviously it'd been more than enough. "Denzel, just because my name isn't Zac doesn't mean I'm different."

Denzel shakes his head. "Not your name. I don't care about that."

That surprises him, but maybe it shouldn't have. Kids operate on a whole other level of understanding, and what matters the most to an adult may not even be cause for consideration for a child.

"Then what is it, Denzel?"

The boy stubbornly refuses to answer.

Gritting his teeth against the sudden wave of helplessness he feels, Cloud holds out a hand. "Alright, you don't have to answer me now. It's time to go home. We can talk some more then."

Cloud's gut clenches uncomfortably when instead of taking his hand like he usually would have, Denzel shrinks further into Tifa's hold.

"Denzel, little man, I'm still the same guy. I just happen to have a different name."

He reaches for him again, but Denzel dodges out of his grasp, contorting in strange ways to avoid contact. Something breaks in him in that instant.

"You're not the same." Denzel's whisper was so soft that he might not have caught it if not for his heightened senses. When Denzel speaks again, his voice is louder and—Cloud realizes with shock—filled with disappointment and disillusionment. "You're not the same. Zac wouldn't've hurt Tifa."

The silence that follows is utterly oppressive. Cloud wants to say that he hasn't hurt her, but that would be a lie. He could never hurt her physically, no matter how he wishes he could, but he's hurt her all the same, maybe worse than anyone ever could have. He should be elated by the success of his revenge, but all he feels is a resounding emptiness in his chest.

Popping his jaw, he turns away from the two people he cares about more than anyone in the world. "Fine then. Stay here. See if I care."

He walks out the door without another glance and tries to ignore the shattering ache in his chest that tells him that he's just ruined the best things he's never had.


	16. Chapter 15

A/N: **STOP!** Don't continue reading this chapter if you haven't read chapter 14 yet. I did another double update. (And if anyone is wondering why I always do that instead of updating in one big chapter, it's all an issue of stylistics. That being the case, I feel bad about only updating a couple of hundred of words, so I try to make it a bigger update by bundling it with a full-length chapter.)

Okay, done reading that? Then lets move on. Welcome to what I lovingly call the chapter that gives a couple of answers but brings up many more questions. :)

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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><p>It took Vincent two days to gather everyone, and Tifa was thankful for every single extra hour she was afforded. As much as she was tempted to run away before the moment of truth, she refused to be that coward anymore.<p>

The furniture in her family room had been reorganized so that she sat in the spotlight with all her friends watching her and nowhere to run. The rest of the group was sprawled across the other sofa and in pulled-up chairs. It was obvious they were trying not to be too inquisitive, but she could sense the tension thrumming through everyone.

She clenched and released her fists repeatedly as she tried to work up the nerve to actually speak up.

Tifa had never really had problems talking with a crowd—considering her occupation, that was impossible—but this had her feeling beyond nervous. After this, everyone whose opinion of her actually mattered might very well change for the worse. She wasn't afraid of their hate; that, she figured she deserved, but she was afraid of disappointing them. They respected her, and she was loathe to lose that.

She knew that they'd all looked to her as the voice of reason in their strange outfit. It was ironic how far from the truth reality could be sometimes.

Tifa took a couple of minutes to scan the faces of her friends. From Barret's brotherly/fatherly concern to Cid's gruff honesty to Red's wiser-than-he-should-be gaze to Reeve's unruffled steadiness to Yuffie's young inquisitiveness to Vincent's inscrutable silence, they were all so dear to her. That being the case, they also deserved the truth from her—two years ago.

Taking a deep breath, she began. "I don't know how much Vincent has told you all about the current situation."

"Nuthin' much," grumbled Barret.

Cid seconded him and then added, "He only said that the Taylor boy ain't who we think he is. If'n you ask me, I already knew he ain't who he says he is."

A chorus of soft agreements sounded and Tifa wanted to laugh at her own naivety. All her friends had known from the start that there was something odd about Zac, and she'd still willfully ignored it all.

Tifa decided the best way to cut through the wave of murmurs was to be blunt. "He's Cloud."

All she needed in the resounding silence that followed would have been the sound of crickets and it would have been the perfect comedic moment. Unfortunately, this was the last thing from funny.

"He's Cloud," repeated Barret. "Cloud, the blond-spiky headed fool we left dead in the Northern Crater?"

Tifa winced, but nodded. "Yes."

"He _did_ die, didn't he?" Reeve gazed at her with an inscrutable look.

"He did. At least, I was sure that he did. He had no pulse and neither the Phoenix Down I had with me nor the Revive material worked."

"But now he's not," pointed out Cid, almost unnecessarily.

"What I want to know is why Cloud came to us under a guise." Go figure Red would be the one to cut to the heart of things.

All eyes turned to her. She rubbed a thumb in circles around her temple. "I think...He wants to take some sort of twisted revenge on me."

"Hold up, did you just say _on __you_?" Yuffie exclaimed. "Like _you_ you? I mean not like there's another you, but gawd, it's you!"

Barret glared at the ninja, but it did little to stem the flow of nonsensical words. Instead, he ended up just speaking over her. "Why would he want revenge?"

"Because Sephiroth didn't kill Cloud." Tifa grimaced. "I did."

…

Tifa had suppressed the memories from that day in the Northern Caves for so long that even the sudden cacophony of voices from her friends at her revelation couldn't pierce through the overwhelming emotions they now carried.

Two years, but every moment was irrevocably etched into her brain.

_She __felt __with __a __frightening __sharpness __the __damp __cavern __air __clogging __her __lungs __and __the __incessant __dripping __of __condensation __off __the __stalactites __filled __her __ears. __Her __nostrils __flared __when __the __scent __of __rotten __animal __bodies __and __mildew __met __her __senses. __Her __mouth __was __dry, __the __constant __battles __leaving __her __muscles __sore __and __bones __stiff._

_Despite __all __that, __she __was __surprisingly__…__light __in __this __trek __into __what __would __turn __out __to __be __hell. __The __night __before __under __the __Highwind __had __been __nothing __short __of __miraculous. __Perhaps __neither __of __them __had __admitted __to __an __emotion __as __strong __as __love__—__at __least __not __out __loud__—__but __they__'__d __known. __And __because __they__'__d __known, __they__'__d __been __able __to __share __one __perfect __moment __in __the __calm __before __the __storm. __Hell, __that __night __they__'__d __created __their __own __storm._

_Together __with __the __rest __of __the __team, __they beat__ everything that __Sephiroth __had __thrown __at __them. Bloodied and bruised, they emerged victorious and high on adrenaline._

_Then, __despite __the __fact __that __all __their __friends __were __watching __and __the __fact __that __they __weren__'__t __sure that killing Sephiroth once and for all meant that __Meteor was stopped for sure__, __Cloud __swept __her __up __into __his __arms __and __kissed __her _hard_. She was so overwhelmed that she didn't even hear the wolf whistles and good-natured leeriing from her friends as their kiss went on and on and on..._

_For __those __few __precious __moments __afterwards, __as __they__made __their __way __back __up __to __the __lip __of __the __crater, __Tifa __dared __to __think __that __everything __was __going __to __be __alright._

_She __hadn__'__t __yet __learned __that __hope __was __a __vicious __demon._

_Suddenly __in __the __next __moment __Cloud __was __gone, __disappeared, __and __she didn't__hesitate __to __leap __back __to __the __heart __of __the __cave __where __they__'__d __done __battle __with __Sephiroth._

_A __long, __agonized __scream __ripped __through __the __stagnant __cavern air __and __then __it __was __Cloud __there, __on __his __knees, __his __eyes __desperate, __so __damn __desperate._

"_Finish __it, __Tifa,__" __he __commanded __with __gasping __breaths.__ "__Finish __it __now."_

_She __shook __her __head. __He __couldn__' __t __be __asking __her __to __do __this. __He __couldn__'__t._

_She wouldn't do it. She couldn't. She couldn't, she couldn't, shecouldn'tshecouldn'tshecouldn't!_

"Tifa!"

She snapped out of painful memory with an audible gasp.

So many years, she'd never dared to put words to her action. Nobody else had known how Cloud had really died. It wasn't that she was ashamed. Or she was, but not because she'd done it. She was ashamed because she'd let it get to the point where it had _had_ to happen.

Suddenly, the secret that she'd carried with her all these years felt foolish. She'd tried to protect his reputation, but what did that matter when she couldn't protect his life, his very soul?

"Teef, you can't leave us hanging like that. Why would you..." at this even Yuffie hesitated and continued with a lower voice, "why would you kill Cloud?"

Because he was in pain. Because she'd through to the truth of a burning town and a bleeding father. Because she'd seen a beautiful friend offered up on an altar, and seen him as the man to take the sacrifice. Because because because.

In the end, she could only say, "I had to."

…

As Tifa stared at the ceiling from her position flat on her back on the bed, she was filled with a sense of severe suffocation. She'd barely escaped the circus that had broken out after her revelations, and it was only thanks to Barret who'd threatened to plug several new holes in the shape of bullets in the next person to ask Tifa to repeat what had happened all over again that they'd left her alone at all.

She understood their need for answers; if she were in their position, she would've reacted the same way, but she just…_couldn't_ anymore.

Ever since that day in the Northern Caves, she felt like she was living on borrowed time. Maybe fate was demanding its dues. She wasn't a fatalistic person normally, but she'd never felt more like a pawn in the game of life than she did now.

From the moment she'd found out the truth, Tifa had always known she would be the one to land the final blow. It had been her responsibility, and she'd never once thought to let someone else take the burden upon themselves. The knowledge had hurt, but it was something she'd had to do, both for herself and for Cloud.

Cloud…already had too much innocent blood on his hands. If he remembered, he would realize that death had been the kindest thing she could have done for him. Because if she hadn't, he would have torn himself apart.

Hers had _had_ to be the killing hand.

But life was not a series of unconnected events. By her hand, she might have doomed the world to a threat worse than Sephiroth. After all, what do you do when the hero turns out to be the devil?

Sleep did not come to her that night.

…

Morning dawned with a whole new set of problems. Everyone had decided to stay the night at the Seventh Heaven and Tifa had been too weary to object. Let them do whatever they wanted. Unfortunately, that also meant that she'd had to run the gauntlet through them this morning. None of them actually touched on the subject of Cloud, but the unspoken tension was probably worse.

Tifa was relieved that eveyone seemed to understand—or at least, they were empathetic as to—why she did what she did, but she could tell that they didn't think she'd told them the whole story. In truth, she hadn't. There were still too many question marks that she didn't want to bring them up for discussion until she had her own answers.

Maybe it was selfish of her, but she had to figure this out for herself.

"Tifa, do you have a minute?"

She almost laughed when she saw who it was. "Yes, Reeve, I do, but you'd better have something good to tell me or else I'm forever going to associate you with bad news."

Reeve arched a brow. "A little of both, I'm afraid."

"I'll take what I can get," she responded as they moved to sit on the couches in the family room.

When they settled, Reeve didn't hesitate to start in. "So do you want the sort of good first or the maybe bad?"

"God, the way you're putting it, I probably don't want either."

Reeve's lips twitched and his tone was dry when he replied, "You probably don't."

Tifa shook her head and sighed. "Either way I'm going to regret this, but…Hit me with the bad stuff first."

"I think Cloud is behind the attacks on the school and the City Hall."

If Tifa weren't already sitting…

Breathing out a long, long breath, she carefully said, "Wow. You really meant bad, didn't you? This doesn't qualify for a 'maybe,' Reeve."

"Well, it's a 'maybe' because I'm not a hundred percent certain, but it seems logical. He apparently has a personal vendetta against you, but you claim that he won't hurt innocents. Maybe that's why so few people were injured during school fire and why it was rat poison in the City Hall and not something more toxic. And then there's the matter of the strand of hair having Jenova cells in it."

"I thought you said it wasn't Cloud's."

"I didn't think so, but if he's somehow figured out how to change his physical scent, it stands to reason that perhaps he can somehow change his genetic makeup."

"That doesn't make sense."

Reeve grimaced. "Very little has in recent years."

"Whatever the case, that all sounds extremely circumstantial right now."

"Hence why I said it's 'maybe bad.'"

She shook her head. "Alright, what's the 'sort of good' news then?"

"I'm aware that Vincent only had time to tell you that the real Zac Taylor is dead before you sprang the news of Cloud's…aliveness on him?"

She winced again at the mention of Zac's death. It might be a reaction she'll continue to make for a while yet. "Yeah."

"Well, I'm not sure if it makes you feel any better, but the real Zac Taylor was an asshole. He ran away to join the Wutai Resistance, alright, but he was also ruthless. There's a reason he was sent into the wilderness with only the smallest company of men, and it wasn't because he was a good guerrilla fighter. They wanted him away from their women. After running through what little military pay he received, he heard about Midgar and decided to come find good ole auntie and uncle to give him money. He used to brag to his buddies that he came from a rich family. No one really knows what happened to him, but the last anyone heard of him, he'd just assaulted a young woman in an alley, and someone beat the shit out of him for it. After that, it seems he just disappeared. Most people think he's dead, but no one really cares one way or the other."

Tifa sat stunned at Reeve's report. A big part of her was relieved. She had no doubt that the "somebody" had been Cloud and that he'd had good reason for ridding the world of another bastard. She also knew that this meant her earlier conclusion had been correct. Cloud's deepest core, the goodness that had always been in him, was still intact.

Strangely though, a part of her was disturbingly lost.

Although Cloud's parting words several days ago had been cruel and unnecessarily crude, she began to wonder if he'd been right after all. Zac had seemed like the perfect man, the perfect hero-figure. Now that she knew the real Zac had been all sorts of messed up, and the Zac she'd known was a fabric of Cloud's imagination, she had to question where her own heart had been. Maybe she really had latched onto this wonderful image of him because of some desperation in her to have a hero. Maybe somewhere in the pulverized remnants of her heart, there remained a childish wish to have someone save her from everything. Maybe she really just wanted a shoulder to cry on.

It was a humbling thought, and one that she didn't care for.

After a long pause, Reeve tentatively asked, "Did that help?"

Tifa shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Honestly, I don't know much of anything right now." Then she remembered that Reeve was the perfect person to talk to on the subject of missing kids. "The Turks paid me a visit the other day."

Reeve's reaction was stronger than she'd expected. "What about?"

"They're on the trail of some missing children and they wanted to get my help."

"I see. They also requested my help with something. They wanted me to help them search for the missing Tseng and Elena."

"They went missing?" If it were anyone else, Tifa might have dropped a sly remark about them going missing _together_, but this was Tseng and he was nothing if not by-the-book.

Reeve nodded. "I sent Vincent after them, but he hasn't told me whether he has recovered them or not."

Tifa shook her head in disbelief. "Do you get the feeling that suddenly everything is happening at once?"

Reeve thought about this for a moment before nodding again. "Yes, almost as if we're all being pulled along by some puppeteer."

That made Tifa shiver. It hit a little too close to what happened before.

"Tifa, have you considered the fact that if Cloud still lives, then Sephiroth might also?"

She shook her head. "I don't think I've wanted to even think about that. But you're right. Knowing Sephiroth and his refusal to stay dead, I wonder if he's connected to all this somehow."

Of course, as soon as the notion took root in her mind, the "if" turned into a "must." How that all fit in with Cloud's…affliction two years ago, well, she hadn't worked up the courage to go into that yet.

"Tifa?" That was Marlene and she was approaching them hesitantly, as if not sure whether she should interrupt the adults and whatever they were talking about.

"What is it, sweetie?"

Tifa hadn't seen Marlene this unsure of herself in a very long time. "Denzel hasn't come home yet."

Tifa frowned even as that insistent pit of cold that had been plaguing her these past couple of weeks cropped up again. Denzel didn't go outside for extended periods of time anymore. Part of it was from the exhaustion caused by the Stigma, but she was almost certain that a bigger reason was because he felt that Zac—Cloud—had abandoned and lied to him.

In light of the recent swath of children going missing, if Denzel went missing too… Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, Tifa asked, "Do you know where he went?"

Marlene frowned. "I told him that Tabi hasn't gone home for a while, and Denzel wanted to find her. He said he'd go to the school, and see if anybody knew anything."

Tifa clenched her hands into tight fists. "Why didn't he come to me first? I'm already looking for her!"

"He said he didn't want to worry you about something else. He said you're already really sad about Zac."

That just made Tifa want to punch the wall. Denzel was even acting like Cloud already! "It must be a male thing," she muttered. Out loud, she asked, "Why didn't _you_ tell me earlier?"

A flush of pink flooded the little girl's cheeks, but she lifted her chin defiantly. "He made me promise not to say. But Mr. Reubens just called, but you were talking with Uncle Reeve so I didn't want to bother you. He said that he just talked with Denzel, but saw that he wasn't looking good. He wanted to make sure he made it home okay. But he said that Denzel should have been home a long time ago."

Tifa wanted to curse and hit things and scream at fate. Why? Why was everything happening to the people she cared about? Was this really her retribution? If so, why couldn't it be directed at her, and not at the innocent? She was so sick of this!

Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she slowed her thoughts. She couldn't allow herself to dwell on this for too long. She had children, _Denzel_, to find.

She caught Reeve's eye and he nodded in grim agreement. Even if she had to turn Edge upside-down, she was going to find her boy. And then she was going to find who was responsible, and then she was going to string them up by their insides.

She really wanted someone to try and stop her. She could use a good fight just about now.

* * *

><p>AN: As they say, be careful what you wish for, my dear...


	17. Chapter 16

A/N: Reading back on the last couple of chapters, I just realized I became my own worst nightmare: my characters are angsting like no other! haha. Expect an explosion (not literally, but maybe literally as well) in the near future because honestly, I don't like characters that are overly emo. :)

Anyhow, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

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><p>"You know," conversationally began a lanky, silver-haired man as he looked out the large bay window, "I wonder how long you'll be able to keep up your pretense when I start breaking every bone in your body."<p>

A low chuckle emerged from Rufus Shinra, though his amused expression was hidden by the thick blanket he was wrapped up in to cover up the Geostigma. Despite being confined to a wheelchair, Rufus still managed to convey such arrogance.

"Indeed? I prefer that you being with the bones in my lower body, but I suppose the lack of feeling below my waist would render torture pointless," Rufus suggested helpfully. If he'd been uncovered, he would have accentuated his boredom by flicking the dust off his immaculate white suit. As it was, this show of nonchalance wasn't as dramatic as he liked, but it worked well enough under the circumstances.

His "guest" glared at him, but Rufus spoke again before he could. "Tell me something, Kadaj. Why are you so desperate to recover Jenova's remains?"

Instead of flustering him, Kadaj merely scoffed. "The better question should be why you're so reluctant to help me. You are infected with the Geostigma also. You know that it is the Planet who is your enemy, who is making you suffer. Why did you try to send your two lackeys to retrieve Mother before I did, hmm?"

Rufus stiffened, barely perceptible to most people, but he knew that Kadaj was more—or less, depending on how one chose to look at it—than "most people." He forced himself to relax. "I am a businessman, Kadaj. I needed a certain degree of...insurance. I will not be controlled by a non-entity like Jenova."

"Mother is not a 'non-entity.' She is _God_."

"_It_ is a headless corpse—no, a pile of organic matter through which _Sephiroth_ controls his puppets. You are nothing but a mindless puppet being forced by the Jenova cells within you to initiate another Reunion." He paused; he knew was playing with fire. Ah, but what the hell? You only live once. "You're just the unwanted Remnants of Sephiroth. Pathetic."

The words had an immediate effect. Kadaj's casual arrogance immediately mutated into fury. His too-pretty face twisted into a scowl and sparks practically flew from his bright green eyes. "_I_ am Mother's _son_! I am! And what do _you_ know? You're only the wasted shell of what used to be Rufus Shinra."

Rufus laughed again, knowing that it irritated Kadaj and glorying in it. "Yes, but I've never been anything _but_ Rufus Shinra. You...you have no existence except for what Sephiroth gave you."

"I will crush you. I will tear you apart limb from limb and watch in glee as Mother destroys you."

Rufus leaned back in his wheelchair, his image one of a man completely at ease. "Ah yes, but first you have to find it."

...

By the end of the day, Tifa was exhausted and had only one option left. In hindsight, she probably should have checked the church and Cloud first, but that cowardly part of her was not ready for another confrontation. For Denzel however, she would brave anything.

Of course, that didn't stop her from caving far too easily when Marlene said she wanted to come with her. She debated whether or not to lie to herself and say that she wasn't using Marlene as a buffer, but decided that it took too much energy. It was better just to own up to the fact that she was still a chicken whenever it came to Cloud Strife.

It never once crossed her mind that she shouldn't bring Marlene because Cloud might hurt the little girl. No matter how he treated herself and despite Reeve's allegations, Tifa still believed that he wouldn't hurt an innocent, and especially not Marlene. And though she had briefly considered that Cloud might have been behind Denzel's disappearance, she didn't believe it. Cloud would never do anything against Denzel's will, and she didn't think that the boy was ready to accept him back yet.

And so it was that she found herself back outside the large, ominous doors just four days after her confrontation with Cloud in this very same place.

Steeling nerves that were already far too frayed, she pushed open the door and scanned the interior before letting Marlene dart into the church. Cloud wasn't there, but Tifa was once again struck by the incongruity of what the church represented and what it really was.

Hope. Faith. Life.

In reality? Hideaway. Lies. Disillusionment.

Inquisitive as ever, Marlene zeroed in on the mini camp set up in the corner of the church. She poked and prodded around the area, but Tifa could tell she was more concerned than curious. "So this is where Zac—er, I mean, Cloud has been living?"

It amazed her how easily Marlene had accepted that Zac and Cloud were the same person. Then again, Denzel hadn't thought much of it either; he'd been upset that Cloud had lied about their being a family and always sticking together, but not that he'd lied about his identity.

"Yes."

"Cloud has Geostigma too," she noted, poking the dirtied bandages with a frown. "Will he come back to live with us?"

"Do you want him to?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I've always liked Zac, and you like Cloud, and if he comes to live with us, then Denzel will too. Then when Daddy comes to visit, we'll have one big family and there'll always be people at home."

Tifa wanted to smile and cry. Marlene hid it well, but underneath all of Marlene's cheeriness was a deep loneliness and fear that her family might fragment once again. She was only six years old. She deserved the stability that Tifa had been unable to give her. Tifa only hoped that after this next set of incidents, she'd be given the opportunity to make it better for Marlene. And for Denzel.

"That sounds perfect, Marlene."

With nothing to do but wait, Tifa went to sit beside the flowers. Brushing a finger down the pristine white petals of a lily, she breathed deeply, trying to take in whatever peace that would come to her. Closing her eyes, she could almost hear the musical lilt of Aerith's laughter in her eyes, could almost feel the phantom brushes of a comforting hand on her shoulder.

In her mind, she asked for forgiveness because she really should have come here sooner. Aerith deserved better from her.

In some corner of her awareness where she'd never used before, she could've sworn that she heard Aerith say _"__Nothing __to __forgive.__"_

_Really, __Aerith? __You __should __know __better __than __anyone __my __crimes._

She didn't hear a response to that and decided that maybe her mind was messing with herself after all.

Heavy footsteps that were definitely not Marlene's pulled her out her trance. For that matter, they weren't Cloud's either.

Jumping smoothly to her feet, Tifa spun around to face the newcomer.

Her first impression was that the man was a giant. Her second was that he wasn't here for anything good.

His hair was cropped short, and the silvery shade of it made her hold back a shudder. That and the black leather outfit he was decked out in practically screamed Sephiroth. He even had the same disturbingly bright green eyes. Strapped to his left arm was a silver pile bunker fitted with dual points and a slim-model gunblade rested against his hip.

Marlene must have sensed the unsettling vibe he exuded because she quickly ducked beneath the arm Tifa extended to her.

When Tifa spoke, she made certain that her tone was firm and polite, but threaded with steely warning. "Can I help you?"

He didn't answer at first, too preoccupied with glancing around the church—and especially the lilies—with disdain.

When he did speak, his voice was like a rumbling mountain."Where's Mother?"

"What are you talking about?"

He tilted his head to the side and completely ignored her question in favor of saying, "You're Tifa Lockhart."

It wasn't surprising that he knew who she was. Most everybody knew what she looked like these days. Somehow though, she just knew he wasn't here for pleasantries.

"I am," she replied, surreptitiously pushing Marlene further behind her.

"Big brother's got a bone to pick with you."

"Who's big brother?"

The big man cocked his head to the side, almost as if he were listening for a response. Tifa couldn't hold back the shudder this time. Despite his size, his mannerisms were almost child-like in a way that disturbed her although she couldn't exactly pinpoint why.

He shrugged. "He'd rather not say."

Tifa didn't know whether she should treat him as insane or take him at his word. Probably a little of both, she decided. Narrowing her eyes, she positioned herself so that she could react quickly if he were to suddenly attack.

"Are you going to pick that bone for 'Big Brother' then?"

He tilted his head to the side and the loud cracking sound ripped through the cavernous church. "Nah. Just wanna play a little."

Narrowing her eyes at him, Tifa pushed Marlene towards one of the stone columns while she pulled out her gloved and snapped them on with cool efficiency. She slid into that ever-familiar fighting stance, and she took strength from the vat of anger that had been boiling in her these past couple of weeks. She'd wanted a fight, and he was just the unlucky guy to give it to her.

Still, she knew she couldn't slacken her guard, especially when he smirked at her and mockingly said, "This'll be fun."

She charged first, and Tifa was momentarily shocked by how quickly he moved for such a bulky man. He'd stopped her first attack short, and it looked like it barely cost him any effort.

Still, for all his speed, she was faster, and she managed to dodge the majority of the blows he swung at her. She didn't fancy getting caught at the receiving end of one of his power-packed punches.

Drawing up the well of energy from the very core of herself, she rained down a series of jabs and punches in a beat rush. He dodged each one until she landed a good roundhouse to his jaw. He retaliated with an electrical surge from pile bunker and Tifa slid back from the sting of the shock. A wave of electricity coursed through her arm and she clenched her fists against the pain as she went at him him again.

At the last moment, she dropped into a sliding water kick which he managed to jump over. However, just as he landed, she thrust her body weight into a left hook that slammed him against the wall. Following up her advantage, she performed a backwards somersault kick that he avoided just enough to prevent getting his neck snapped.

It was frustrating. Tifa knew that she was landing solid hits on the man, but he brushed them off like he barely felt them. While she was aware she wasn't at the strength she was during their journey two years ago, she still trained often enough to know that there was no way a normal person could shrug off her blows like he did.

They locked arms in a contest of strength, and she was once again disconcerted by the catlike slits on his pupils. He took advantage of her distraction and threw her off with another shock from his pile bunker. She stumbled from the aftereffects of the electricity and her opponent snatched the opportunity to push her back with a front kick. She slid to a stop with a stone wall behind her back.

Ducking, she barely missed having the pile bunker driven into her face. At this lower height, she pushed forward, using the wall for momentum, and tackled him. She gripped the front on his clothes in a tight fist and kicked off his body, slamming him against the ground in a meteodrive.

Again, the man showed amazing reflexes and grabbed her ankle before she could land. He swung her around with an ease that chilled her before flinging her against the wall like a hammer throw. She barely had enough time to contort her body so that she didn't smash headfirst into the stone, but she could tell that she'd torn more than one muscle in doing so. In fact, her whole body was aching, but she breathed deep like in the meditation exercises Zangan used to make her do, and it eased the pain.

Adrenaline pumping, she stared at her opponent and saw those god-awful eyes bright with sadistic glee, and she charged at him one last time. Her sudden acceleration caught him off-guard and she grabbed him by the collar, using her forward momentum to fling him high into the air before leaping up herself to get a strong grip on him and throw him with all her strength down to the floor.

A pillow of dust and broken wood flew up in a cloud when he landed among the pews and didn't get up again.

Meteor strike. It'd been a while since she'd had to pull that one, and her body was complaining about it now. Breathing heavily, Tifa held her position for a few more moments to make sure he was finally down before breathing a heavy sigh of relief.

She glanced over at Marlene and smiled reassuringly at her.

She'd probably be all black and blue tomorrow, and she's fairly certain she'd a fractured rib or two, but it felt good to be able to let it all out like that. And she realized that it wasn't simply that she'd gotten the tension in her out. It was because she'd finally been able to protect someone she loved. She wasn't a total failure at least and she could take comfort in that.

"You okay, Marlene?" Tifa was a little surprised to find her voice raspy. It really had been a long time since she'd fought a real opponent.

The little girl peeked out from behind the pillar she was hiding by. She glanced around the church and her eyes widened at all the destruction. "Uh huh. Tifa, who is that man?"

Tifa shook her head. "I don't know honey. You stay there and I'm going to see if he has any sort of identification on him."

She took a step toward the demolished pews where she'd thrown the man, but that was all she had time for when suddenly she heard him stirring. Watching with horrified amazement, the man stood up, brushing off wood particles and cracking his neck like it was nothing.

She knew she wasn't as strong as she used to be, but _jeez!_ Sliding her right leg back again, she resumed her fighting stance, but he ignored her.

With a sigh, he reached into his pocket and fished out a phone. "Hey, there's nothing here."

She heard nothing of the voice on the other end, but she could tell that whoever it was, was the one calling the shots.

"No, I'm _not_ crying," he protested, though to Tifa's shock, she could see a red ring around his eyes and liquid welling up. "Fine, I'll bring the girl."

That shook Tifa out of her reverie. No way she was allowing anyone to touch Marlene.

He snapped the phone shut and grinned at Tifa. "That was fun, but now I gotta work."

With that, he effortlessly picked up the shattered remains of a pew and threw it straight at Tifa. She broke it apart with a single punch, then suddenly all she knew was pain. White-hot, blinding pain that made her feel like her insides were being burned with the fires of hell.

She looked down at her torso dumbly and found that she was bleeding. Badly.

The world seemed to slow around her, and she stumbled back a few steps before collapsing to the floor, the impact sending a cloud of torn petals up in a morbid celebration. Invasive currents of electricity rendered her limbs unresponsive, and warmth seeped out of her ounce by bloody ounce.

This was impossible. She hadn't even seen him move, but logic said that he'd pierced her with his pilebunker when she'd been breaking apart the pew. It was an errant observation, one that was completely pointless, but she couldn't seem to focus her thoughts.

Shock, she realized, was setting in already from the blood loss.

No, she couldn't lose. She had to protect Marlene. She had to find Denzel. She couldn't lose.

The fringes of her vision darkened even as she fought it.

Distantly, she felt her attacker straddle her and pull her up by the front of her leather vest. She tried to struggle, but her muscles refused to respond.

Just when she thought it was all over, he scoffed and let her drop back to the ground unceremoniously. "You're lucky Big Brother ain't done with you yet."

She reached out with a weak hand, but she couldn't remember who or what she was reaching for. And then everything went black.

…

He finds her gasps of agony to be delicious. He isn't there personally to drink it in, but he senses her despair and glories in it. He will break her into pieces for defying him.

It is ironic because her defiance gives her character, and if he could admire anyone else, he would her for her bold but foolish rebellion. It is a shame that her daring constantly intervenes with the fruition of his plans. Otherwise, he could keep her around as amusement.

But no matter. He will only have this short time to play, and she will learn just who is superior. He will undo her completely, and he knows the perfect way to do it.

* * *

><p>AN: Random side note - I admit I have a fascination with Rufus Shinra (and by extension, the Turks). He strikes me as the Lawful Evil type (i.e. Dungeons & Dragons) and I think that's what makes him interesting. He doesn't try to hide the fact that he's only interested in making a profit, but he seems to operate on his own system of honor (for lack of a better word).

Anyhow, as a tribute to Tifa's famous fight scene with Loz, I basically wrote out the scene almost move for move, but that's the last time I'm ever doing that. What looks cool on film becomes decidedly...not as cool on paper. hehe.

In any case, as always, thanks for your ongoing support! :)


	18. Chapter 17

A/N: Gah! This chapter was hard to write. Maybe it's because Cloud/Zac is such a nutcase...haha. It's done now and that's all that matters. Thanks for your continuing support!

* * *

><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

* * *

><p>Cloud's instincts are rarely wrong, and they are currently blaring loudly enough to send in a whole fire brigade. Quickening his pace up the steps to the church, he shoves open the large double doors and pauses for a moment. The silence is unnatural.<p>

He knows this silence, this twisting of his guts so that he can barely breathe. He knows it, and he hates it.

He hates it because there have been only two other times in his life that he's felt this cold chill: the first was when he'd found Tifa's bloodied body, her torso nearly ripped in two by Sephiroth's blade all those years ago in Nibelheim. The second was when he'd watched helplessly as Aerith was sacrificed—no, slaughtered—on some altar to the gods.

He can't let it happen a third time. He can't have this feeling. This feeling is death.

But even as he denies it, he sees her.

He sees her and time stops.

Everything is wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. Tifa isn't supposed to be hurt like this. Tifa shouldn't be bleeding. Tifa shouldn't be sprawled out like a mangled doll, a toy carelessly strewn about by a spoiled child.

The whole thing is profane, sacrilegious. Sacrilege, that the lilies should be a bed of death. Sacrilege, that the bloody body should be Tifa's.

_She betrayed you_, reminds that serpent in his head. _She stabbed you in the back with your own sword. She deserves this, and worse. You hate her_.

_Shut up! Get out of my head, damn it!_ he demands, despising that voice and how it clouds his mind and distorts everything until all he is allowed to feel is hatred.

In these rare moments of clarity, he understands that all his thoughts of revenge and paying her back the thousand-fold pain she'd inflicted on him are meaningless. No, beyond meaningless. They are foolish. He is a fool to think that he could have ever carried through his intentions, a fool to think that he could rebel against fate like that.

Always, Cloud Strife has been and will be Tifa Lockhart's protector. He was born to protect her and his life to the very last breaths belongs to her.

He hates that it takes her bloodstained image for him to remember that. He doesn't know how he could have ever forgotten it in the first place.

No, that's not quite right. He knows why, but he also knows that these brief instances when his thoughts are his own are few and far between. He will hurt her again, and he can do nothing to stop it. And when he does hurt her, he fears that he'll lose whatever shred of his soul he still possesses.

He falls to his knees before her in pained contrition. His hands tremble as he gathers her limp body against him with an urgency that would frighten him if he were able to think of anything but her life.

"Tifa!" He pulls her closer and is terrified to find that her lips are purple and her face pale—far too pale. He presses a hand against her stomach and is sickened by the slick slide of her blood.

Why is there so much blood? The bleeding had miraculously clotted, but there's so much of it outside of her body. So much...

"Marlene!" Tifa shoots up once in sudden awareness, but she slumps just as quickly back into his arms.

"Tifa! Who did this?" He doesn't know how he has the presence of mind to ask any questions, but he's grateful that his subconscious is able to operate even when he can't think beyond the fragility of her body.

She shakes her head, her eyes unfocused as she tries to look him. Her eyebrows furrow as she weakly lifts a hand to his face. She's too weak, and her hand falls halfway there, but Cloud catches it in his own and brings her cold cold hand to his cheek.

"What is it? Tifa, what is it?"

He's frantic; he can't think, he just has to protect her. Save her. His mind blanks and he's faced with the very real possibility that Tifa will not survive. No. No! He refuses to believe that.

Then two words trickle out of her mouth, and his whole world explodes.

"You're late."

Her body goes completely limp and he's undone.

_I'm late, I'm late, I'm always late always always always late why am I always late why why why why—_

"Ugh!"

Lancing pain shoots up his left arm and his vision whites out. Black blood oozes from the sores puckering his arm and the flowers—beautiful, pure flowers—are stained with its evil.

"Not now, God damn it, not now!" he roars, but his body pays him no heed.

Panting, he bends over Tifa and rocks back and forth, trying to ease the pain. He can't give in to it. He has to get Tifa help. He has to find out who did this to her. He has to—

He slumps to the floor in a boneless heap, his body too ravaged for his brain to maintain consciousness.

As he falls victim to the void, the serpent speaks, its cruel laughter resounding in his ears.

_You __belong __to __me, __puppet_.

...

Zac comes awake with a sudden blink.

Pain zips up and down his left arm and he curses the blot of Geostigma that's infected his flesh.

Reaching over with his right hand to grip the sore arm tightly, he realizes with some surprise that his left arm is encased in a black leather sleeve. He follows the line of his arm to his torso and finds that instead of the light grey t-shirt he'd been wearing, he is now dressed in a heavy cable-knit sweater-vest.

What the hell? He doesn't even remember having anything like this in his closet.

He sits up and slips out of the unfamiliar bed, taking in the room he's in. He immediately recognizes the pictures on the wall and on the desk.

He's at the Seventh Heaven.

He glances around again, and his attention snags on the figure lying still as death on the other twin bed in the room.

"Tifa!"

The room is small, so it barely takes him half a step to bring him to her side. He reaches out with a shaking hand, and his relief when he finds her steady pulse is so great that it's almost crushing.

His head suddenly throbs as if in reminder that all is not well.

"What the hell happened?" he mutters to himself. He can't even remember the last place he'd been.

"You know, you're heavier than you look."

His whole body suddenly goes on the alert and he swings his attention to the door. There, he sees two men dressed in sedate navy-blue suits, though one of them—the shorter man—wears his with complete carelessness. That one is a redhead with a face that's almost too pretty while the other is a tall mountain of a man.

For some reason, Zac finds them both extremely familiar, figures and memories that keep dancing at the edge of his brain.

The taller one, bald and solemn, stands like a statue, but Zac could have sworn that his gaze—covered with a pair of dark shades as they may be—keeps straying to Tifa.

Zac shifts so that he stands defensively in front of Tifa.

The red-haired one raises an eyebrow at that. "If she didn't tell you, we're working together, yo. No need to get your panties in a twist, Strife."

"I'm not Cloud Strife."

He snorts in response. "Try to sell me another one, yo. Sure took your time showing up though. Everyone thought you were dead."

Zac opens his mouth to protest, but then decides it isn't worth the bother. "Who are you?"

This time, his unexpected guest is not so flippant. He studies Zac for a long time and suddenly Zac sees through his facade of nonchalance. This man is dangerous, even—or maybe especially—when he relaxes and his mouth splits into an amused grin. "What, you hit your head, Strife? Thought you hated us more than that."

Hate? Why would he hate them?

Screaming, gunshots, an explosion. Thousands crushed, comrades dead. It flashes through his brain in rapid succession, and throughout the images he sees them with their blue suits.

"Turks. Reno, Rude." The names slip from his tongue with some familiarity, and the feelings they evoke are both his and not his.

Hatred. He hates them with an intensity that's frightening. But then, it's not all hate. Sometimes there was camaraderie, an understanding to put aside their differences to fight a bigger battle. Allies in the strangest times.

Zac shakes his head to reorient himself. "What are you doing here?"

Reno smirks. "Saving your ass, apparently."

Zac nods after a moment's consideration. "Thank you."

Reno's smirk turns into a grimace. "Must've hit your head hard, saying thank you to us. Thought I'd savor it, but damn, that just sounds weird." Before Zac can say anything in response, Reno changes the subject. "Weren't there some kids living with you? Cause they're not here."

Worry spikes through him. Denzel and Marlene. Where are they?

Zac shakes his head again. Nothing makes sense. Nothing at all.

Frustrated, he leans one hand against the wall and punches it with the other, hoping to pound some sense into everything. To his surprise, the plaster and drywall crumbles like flour beneath the impact. He pulls out his fist and finds that there's not even a single scratch across his knuckles.

What. The. Hell?

Zac works out as much as the next guy, but he always did it for toning, not heavy-lifting. He could probably punch through a wall if he really wanted to, but the problem is that he hadn't really wanted to. And his skin is unmarred, not even a little bruise.

"What...?"

He hears a soft moan and sees that Tifa is coming to. "Cloud?"

_No, stop calling me that. Stop!_

He takes a deep breath and sits down next to her on the bed, helping her struggle into an upright position. "No, it's Zac."

Her brows furrow, and her confusion is palpable as she absentmindedly murmurs, "Zac? That's not possible. Zac's dead."

Shivers and a voice screaming in his head. _Wrong, __wrong __wrong!_

"Tifa, look at me. I'm Zac."

She does look at him, and it's as if she sees right through him. "Why are you doing this to me again, Cloud? Do you really hate me that much?"

NO! No, no, no. Of course not.

_Yes!_ Hisses some unknown part of him.

No! God, what is wrong with him?

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Reno and Rude exchanging shrugs.

"Hey, don't mean to interrupt or anything, but we've got some serious problems. We have a report of some group calling themselves Kadaj's gang rounding up some kids who are—get this—infected with the Geostigma. Figured you might wanna take a look into it."

Zac doesn't really know what they were talking about, but it offers a moment's respite from the wild maelstrom of emotions swirling around within him. "Why aren't you doing it?"

Reno scratches his head and Rude's dark skin deepens just a shade. "Yeeeaah, well, we kinda got our asses handed to us by them. It wasn't pretty."

A surprised silence follows, and Zac knows even though he shouldn't that the Turks don't easily admit defeat. He's further surprised when it's Tifa who responds.

"I lost too," she says quietly.

Then slowly, ever so slowly, her gaze creeps up from the wolf's head ring she's toying with on her finger and she locks eyes with him. He knows she expects him to do something. He looks around wildly and the Turks are watching him in expectation also. "Wait, what, you think _I _can beat these guys when you and Tifa couldn't?"

"Cloud, you've always been the strongest out of all of us."

He threw up his hands. "I already said I'm not Cloud!"

"You are." She doesn't raise her voice, and he thinks that's even worse than her screaming at him because her quiet conviction is far too convincing.

It's too incredible. Too fantastical. And not in a good way. "Tifa, I think I'd know who I am."

She shakes her head, almost as if in confusion at first, but then she abruptly stops and a horrified understanding filters through her fine features. "Not unless a part of you..." Her voice cracks so she tries again. "Not unless a part of you is using yourself."

Ridiculous.

But even as he thinks it, a part of him tenses in aggression, almost as if angry that Tifa is making the connection. It isn't a normal angry, but a deep fury like one would feel if one's plans were about to be ruined.

"It's happened before, to a lesser degree. It makes sense," she mutters.

No, it doesn't. Nothing makes sense.

"Tifa, what are you talking about?" He tries to keep his voice steady, but he can't completely hide his unease.

She ignores him and turns to the Turks. "Where is Kadaj's gang taking the kids?"

Reno shrugs. "Not sure. They lost our tail."

Tifa considers this and glances at Zac before turning her attention back to their two former enemies. "Can you try to find them?"

Reno and Rude both seem to tense, unsure of something. Unsure of Zac? No way. Tifa would wipe the floor with him any day.

But they are definitely uneasy and don't leave until Tifa nods resolutely. It annoys him to see that they think Tifa needs protection from Zac. Like he could or _would_ ever hurt her.

Irritated and frustrated, Zac's tone is clipped and his temper shorter than it's ever been around Tifa. "Are you done avoiding my questions now?"

She's looks at him, but it's like she's staring straight through him. "I tried to ignore it, to find excuses for it, but all I've been doing is making it worse all along, isn't it?"

"Goddamn it Tifa, I'm _this_ close to blowing. What the fuck is going on?" he finally bellows.

It irritates him when her preoccupied look turns slightly annoyed, like he is bothering her with inane questions. "Can't you ignore this for just a couple of days while we go get the kids?"

He looks at her incredulously. He's angry, but beyond that, he's hurt that she's treating this issue so lightly. "_Ignore_ this? _This_ is you trying to tell me I'm not really me. It's not exactly something I can just _ignore_ on a whim."

That finally gets her full attention and the impact of the look in her eyes—a heartrending mix of regret and deep sadness and, he thinks this is the worst of all, faint vestiges of hope—makes him almost wish that he is who she wants him to be. But then...then he would be someone else completely and the thought that she can't be happy with him as he is hurts just as much.

"I didn't mean it that way," she says at last, swallowing hard. "It's just...I need to focus on the kids right now. They're out there in the hands of who knows what kind of madmen and I can't—I _can't_ fail them." She looks up at him with beseeching eyes, wanting him to get something he doesn't have the capacity to understand. "I wish I could explain everything, but I don't even understand it all myself. But...I just want you to know that you _are_ important to me."

It's not an admission of love, but his heart kicks into motion regardless. Then it jerks to a painful halt when he realizes that she didn't attach a name. Stomach sinking, he wonders whether he's important to her because of himself or because she thinks of him as Cloud.

He doesn't get the chance to confront her about it before a furious pounding on the door booms through the apartment.

He and Tifa exchange a surprised glance before they're both rushing out of the room and down the stairs to where Reno had already thrown open the door with all the care of a drunk. Somehow Zac knows that it's a ruse of Reno's, this carelessness, but that doesn't stop the protective instinct in him from wanting to chew him out for putting Tifa in potential danger. He forgets momentarily and conveniently that she is more than capable of defending herself.

He quickly finds that his concerns are misplaced however, when he sees that the person at the door is a tall but gangly young man who looked so harried that a strong wind might blow him over. The man looks vaguely familiar, but it isn't until Tifa calls him by name that recognition clicks.

"Scott? What are you doing here?"

Oh, right. One of the teachers at the school. He was also the one who came in to the Seventh Heaven warning them about the fire at the school.

Scott takes a deep breath and looks like he's just about to say something when he spots Zac and suddenly stops shorts, his expression clearly showing that he did not expect him to be there.

Zac narrows his eyes at him in automatic response, even as he tries to figure out why he is being so aggressive. Something about the benign-looking teacher sets him off, but he can't figure out what. The animosity disappears almost immediately however and it leaves Zac feeling oddly unsettled.

"Tifa, Mr. Taylor, I saw Denzel."

"What? Where?" Tifa's eyes are bright with concern.

"Just outside of town. A man there was loading a bunch of kids into a truck."

"Kadaj's crew, no doubt," inserts Reno.

"What are they planning on doing with them?" asks Tifa.

"I heard some of the kids mention that they're going north. To the Forbidden Capital."

"Why?"

Scott hesitates before replying, "They say they'll be cured of the Geostigma there."

There's a collective hiss when everyone suddenly sucks in a gasp of air in surprise. Reno whistles and mutters, "No shit?" while Rude dusts off his suit in a nervous gesture that Zac didn't expect from the stolid giant.

"Is that really possible?" Zac wonders aloud, all the while extremely conscientious of the leather wrap around his infected arm.

"Who knows, but there's something definitely wrong with this whole situation. Ain't no reason to just bundle up a bunch of kids and take off with them, y'know what I mean?" Reno points out. A grimace crosses his face not a moment later. "God damn, that sounds perverted."

Tifa lets out a small sound of dismay and Zac pins Reno with a sharp look. Clenching his jaw, Zac takes charge in an effort to mitigate the careless words. "Whatever the case, we gotta rescue the kids first."

Tifa's eyes are still tremulous with anxiety, but she nods resolutely. "Cid is back in Rocket Town though, and the Highwind is the fastest way to the Forbidden Capital."

"We'll take Fenrir. My motorcycle," he clarifies when Tifa's eyebrows knit in confusion. "We might as well go all the way north. By the time we get to Rocket Town, we would have made it to the Forbidden Capital already."

Reno dips his head in acquiescence. "We're gonna stay in town. There's still some'em fishy roundabouts here I don't like."

"Do whatever the hell you want," Zac mutters as he dismisses the Turks offhandedly.

To his surprise, Reno actually grins at that. "Now see! That attitude's more like the spiky-ass punk we all know."

Whistling a bit more cheerfully than the situations warrants, Reno claps Scott on the back—nearly knocking the slender teacher to the ground with his enthusiasm—and gives Zac and Tifa a jaunty salute as he and Rude (finally) walk out the door.

Scott hesitates at the door, glancing briefly, but warily, at Zac. To Tifa, he asks, "Are you going to be alright?"

A rush of enmity makes Zac want to bare his teeth in warning. He fights it back even though he doesn't like Scott's implication that Zac can't fully be trusted. First the Turks and now Scott.

The distrust stings worse with Scott because they been on good, albeit unfamiliar, terms before. After all, Zac is Denzel's guardian and Scott a teacher at the school. Zac likes to think of himself as a good man and it rankles that so many others do not.

That's why it gratifies him so much to see Tifa blinking in confusion, her expression one that clearly states she sees no connection between being alone with Zac and danger. His nerves are further soothed when she says in a very matter-of-fact manner, "Besides, I'm going with Cl—with Zac."

Well, at least she is acknowledges who he is now.

Scott's mouth moves in a motion that looks like he wants to say, _That's exactly the problem_, but he swallows it. "Of course," he mumbles instead.

All business now, Tifa continues, "If you find out anything else, go tell Reeve."

"Right," Scott agrees, with just the barest trace of something that sounds suspiciously like malcontent. He loiters for just the briefest moment, but seeing that Tifa is preoccupied with thoughts of the children no doubt, Scott leaves them to themselves.

Zac starts a little when she suddenly says, "I'd like some time." Somehow he knows that she's not talking about the kids now. "I...made a mistake the last time, and I'd like to try and make sure I don't do it again."

Her words still make no sense to him, and he wishes that she would just stop remembering Cloud, but then again, if she does do that, she wouldn't exactly be the Tifa he's so miserably in love with, now would she?

Resigning himself to something he doesn't understand, he nods. "Let's aim to leave within the hour."

One thing at a time, he reminds himself.

It had taken him months before he'd worked up the courage to approach her at all. There's no reason he can't wait just a little longer for her to put away the ghosts of her past.

He can only hope that those ghosts will stay away.


	19. Chapter 18

A/N: Updates (which haven't been happening all that often anyway) may be much more sporadic next month because I'm going to be participating in NaNoWriMo for the first time this year. Exciting! :) Wish me luck! I'm gonna need it. haha.

As always, thanks for taking the time to review! And thanks for hanging with me so far through a crazy ride. It only gets worse. jkjk. Or not.

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><p><strong>THE KILLING HAND<strong>

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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><p>Not for the first time since these seemingly interminable events of misfortune spun into play, Tifa wondered if she was still altogether sane. Honest answer? Probably not.<p>

Her grip around Cloud/Zac (she wasn't even sure what to call him anymore) tightened as they sped through the wastelands on his motorcycle—er, that is Fenrir; he was surprisingly insistent about its name.

The last time she'd seen Cloud riding on a motorcycle, they'd been making their grand escape from Midgar. Crazy to think that had happened only two years ago.

She remembered thinking back then that it was a shame she had to drive the truck. Seeing him ride the Hardy-Daytona with such masculine ease had unexpectedly sent a shiver of feminine awareness up and down her spine. For a single reckless moment, she'd been tempted to jump behind him and hold tight, wanting to share in the ecstasy of that strange union between man and machine. It wasn't so much sexual desire as it was an almost spiritual affinity.

Well, no. If she were completely honest with herself, she'd admit that a good deal of it was sexual.

But, she'd kept her hands to herself at the time and it was a private regret of hers that she had.

How strange that she got her wish two years later in a situation she'd definitely never would have expected.

She tried to keep her mind focused on the mission ahead of them, but that resolve only lasted two hours into the drive.

The warmth of his body and the strength in his bones distracted her far too easily. The play of his muscles beneath her fingers was familiar, achingly so, but at the same time so different from anything she'd known.

Just like the man himself.

To say that Cloud's suddenly reversion to Zac had been a shock would be a major understatement. Initially, she'd thought that Cloud had purposely come to them under a different identity intent on carrying out his revenge.

But this morning's interaction with him had her questioning whether he was fooling himself. It was a chilling prospect, and one that made all too much sense. After all, it wouldn't be the first time, now would it?

Snatches of those terrible last moments in the Northern Crater sprang from the tight little box she'd stuffed in the back corner of her mind.

_The colors were too vivid. The blues and greens swirling and waltzing within his eyes. The scarlet reds spilled upon the cold stone floor. The pale alabaster of skin drained of life's precious liquid. The sickening gray pallor of death._

_The next sense to attack her was the copper tang of blood. It overpowered even the musty, uncirculated air of the caverns deep underground. It surrounded her, drowned her. It was on her body, on her hands._

_God, there was blood all over her hands._

_Never clean. She'll never be clean again. Not when the blood on her hands was his. Not when she failed him like this._

Tifa tore herself from the merciless morass of her memories and caught back a sob in her throat. It was pointless to let herself get swept away in the ocean of negative emotions, no matter how tempting it was to just let go.

Muscle by muscle, she forced her tensed body to relax. She realized she'd been squeezing Cloud—Zac; she didn't even know what to call him anymore—tight enough to make breathing difficult for him, but he didn't say a word.

Ever since the morning's debacle with the Turks and Scott, he hadn't spoken much at all.

She distracted herself from the unwelcome thoughts by wondering if he was angry, which would have been completely reasonable. She hadn't handled the debacle this morning very well, and she knew it.

Traveling by motorcycle made it almost impossible to talk, and she had a feeling that he needed to put words to his frustration right now before he went mad.

Unfortunately, during the first break they took four hours into the journey, Zac was less than amenable to conversation.

Wisely deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, Tifa let him be for the brief half hour they took to do their business and snack on some sandwiches. Zac spent a lot of time staring into space; or maybe he was looking inward to see if he could figure out the riddle of himself.

Tifa mourned the loss of the innocent contentment that used to permeate his gaze. Now all she saw was confusion and a deep scabbing wound that she'd forced him to pick at. Maybe it would have been better to leave him in his ignorance.

Even as she thought it, she knew that whatever force—if there was one—that was pulling all these events together wouldn't have left him unscathed. Sorry as she was to say it, Cloud Strife had always been fate's bitch, and she didn't think this incarnation of his would have any better luck. It wasn't that she wished him ill; she'd never do that. But still, reality was reality, and theirs had always been a painful one.

It wasn't until they stopped for the night that Tifa really couldn't take it anymore.

They'd made good time up the northeastern tip of the Midgar area and across the series of bridges and small islands that linked the Northern and Eastern Continents. They'd stopped to make camp just out of reach of Bone Village and decided set out for the forgotten capital in the morning.

Belatedly, Tifa realized that they hadn't really saved much time going this route than calling in Cid for a pick-up, but she sensed that Zac wanted some time away from other people, especially people who knew him as a different person.

Both agreed tacitly that it would be unwise to rush in when they both so emotionally volatile. Tifa wanted to save the kids as soon as possible, but she acknowledged that they weren't in a good position to do so.

That's why it was so important that she break Zac out of his funk tonight so that he could go in tomorrow with a clear head. Well, as clear a head as he was going to have considering the circumstances.

She waited until they finished a modest but hearty dinner of stewed vegetables and rabbit meat before she confronted him. He was setting up the small tent while she cleaned their eating utensils.

Trying to adopt a casual tone so as to not prod him into clamming up—something she was finding all males were disgustingly prone to—she asked, "Are you okay?"

The moment it left her lips, Tifa realized how asinine it sounded. Still, the question was out, and if nothing else, at least her concern was genuine.

"Fine," he replied just a beat to quickly for Tifa to know that he really wasn't. He seemed awfully occupied for someone tossing out the sleeping bag for the tenth time.

So much for easing in. Taking a deep breath, she forged on, "Did you want to talk?"

At that, he paused and very deliberately turned to lock gazes with her. His eyes were as inscrutable as his expression. "Are you going to give me actual answers?"

She swallowed and acknowledged that she deserved that one. "Yes."

He watched her for a long time, to see if she was being honest no doubt, and he must have decided she was because he left the sleeping bag half-twisted inside the tent and came to sit next to her by the fire. He picked up a long stick and poked at it a couple times, causing the sparks to to fly up in a cloud of fireflies. It was obvious that he was waiting for her to start.

Blowing out a silent breath, she began where she knew she knew she had to. With an apology.

"I'm sorry for blowing you off this morning. I didn't mean to be so insensitive about things, but you have to understand that the last time I saw you, you were Cloud." And you'd basically told me I could go screw myself. Tifa tactfully left off that last part.

"You're sure that was me? Not just someone else who looks like him—like me?"

She laughed without humor. "Oh yeah. Kind of hard to get you confused when you walk in as you one minute and the next minute your eyes change and you pick up Cloud's old memories." She paused and wondered. "Do you remember any of that at all? Going to the Aerith's church in Sector Five? It looked like you'd been living there for several days."

"Of course I don't," he began to say, but then before he finished, his gaze sharpened on something in the horizon, but Tifa knew what he was seeing was more introspective in nature than external.

She leapt on it immediately. "What is it?"

"It's just...Are you talking about that old church building? The one with the stained glass and the flowers inside?"

She tried to contain her excitement. "Yes. Do you remember being there?"

"I don't know if I can say that I remember it, but I have these vague recollections of it. Either way, it's not like I'm not familiar with the building. It's where I found Denzel, after all."

Coincidence? Or something more sinister than that? As with so many other things recently, Tifa was afraid to ask. Or maybe she was being entirely too cynical since Cl—Zac's finding Denzel resonated more with Aerith's compassion than Sephiroth's malice.

"Tell me why Cloud hates you," Zac said all of a sudden.

Tifa cringed at his bluntness. "Why would you say that?"

"This morning. You asked me if I really hated you that much."

God, had that really only been this morning? It felt like ten lifetimes ago.

"I did, didn't I?" She must have gone silent for too long afterward because Zac began to shift restlessly. She berated herself for being so irresolute even though she'd already promised that she would also all his questions. Zac deserved better.

So, taking a deep breath, she finally took the plunge. "The first thing you have to know is that I lied. To everyone. About what had happened two years ago in the Northern Crater."

Though still stinging from the mental anguish she been dipped in earlier that day, Tifa for the first time voluntarily reached into the mental box that housed those terrible memories.

The sudden onslaught of buried emotions made her head spin.

All at once she found herself back in the humid depths of the Crater. She had followed Cloud back to the heart of the caves when he'd suddenly disappeared on them just as they had almost made their way out of there.

She had found him easily enough, but she almost wished that she hadn't.

She remembered the fear, the wrongness of the moment and how her stomach had twisted and twisted until it was all she could do to not retch on the cavern floor. She remembered watching in abject horror as blond bleached into silver and blue crystallized into hard green filled with malice. Navy, cable-knit sweater transmuted into black, heartless leather. The beloved and familiar planes of his face pulled and shifted into the cold handsomeness of a brutal monster.

In an instance, the man standing before her was not the hero she'd always wanted, but the one Cloud had always wanted to be. She hated irony.

Her stomach lurched again. This wasn't right. It couldn't be happening. But it was, it was, it was and what was she supposed to do now?

He laughed, low and menacing. "The puppet was a fool to think himself strong enough to overcome me. We all know how well his attempts at rebellion worked when I used him to set Nibelheim ablaze."

Her chest constricted, her breaths coming in rapid, shallow breaths. Lies. He was trying to overcome her with lies. She knew the truth of that day. She saw it clearly enough in her own memory and in Cloud's.

Sephiroth's lips curled. "Or perhaps, if that is not clear enough in your memory, I should mention something a little more recent. Say...the death of a friend? Aerith was her name, wasn't it? It was quite delicious the despair that flooded the puppet when I made him kill her."

She flinched but she held strong. Cloud hadn't killed her. They'd all been there to see Sephiroth descending to impale his Masamune on the innocent woman.

"You were the one who murdered Aerith, you bastard!"

"Indeed I did. But who do you think was my instrument? Let me tell you a little secret. Until I am fully resurrected and infused with the Planet's very life, I am not able to materialize physically unless I'm using a puppet's body. Whose body do you think was the most convenient at the time?"

"Whichever body you used, you're the one who killed her!"

He nodded mockingly. "This is good, your capacity for forgiveness and self-delusion. The first time the puppet beat her on my command should have alerted you to his true nature."

"What true nature?" she demanded, yet simultaneously so afraid of the answer.

"I thought you smarter than that, fighter. Do you know? In the depths of your heart, you know I speak the truth, and yet you'll refuse it to your last breaths. Your agony is delicious." His cool amusement was evident in the hard curve of his lips. "You should understand by now that I am him and he is I. Anything you hate me for, you can despise him a thousand-fold for being too weak to resist."

Suddenly images of flames and pain and blood flashed before her eyes. A teenager's heartbreak over losing a father, a home, everything. Screaming, groaning metal as even the Planet protested as it pumped through the pipes of the reactor. Then she realized that the shrieking voice was hers.

Then there was sudden silence as she was surrounded by false tranquility, and she saw again the expression of satisfaction that had graced Aerith's face the moments before her life was stolen from her. Then, hated red spilling down an altar and the innocent ping-ping-ping of a materia meant to save the world. A raw scream welling up from the depths of her despair because out of all of them, Aerith had been their beacon of hope and now she was gone.

Anguish. Such agony as she hadn't felt in such a long time.

Then confusion. Disbelief. Pain. Anger. Hatred.

Yes, hatred for the man standing before her because she realized now that her memories weren't wrong. Or maybe, she should say that all her memories were wrong.

She suddenly saw in her mind's eye the truth of it. Nibelheim's reactor. There really had been only one man who came to challenge Sephiroth—Zack. Cloud...was not there to lift her so gently out of the blaze of danger.

Cloud...was not there. Or he was, just not in the way she wanted to believe.

There was only Cloud as Sephiroth. There was only Cloud razing their hometown in a vengeful blaze. There was only Cloud stabbing her father through. There was only Cloud—

Her vision blurred, and she almost choked on the well of tears that threatened to drown her.

There was only Cloud rising up behind Aerith and striking that final, fatal blow.

For all the twisted lies that Sephiroth constantly spewed from his mouth, one thing had been true: the Cloud she knew had long ago ceased being himself.

She launched herself at him before she knew what she was doing.

He repelled her easily, too easily, like she was nothing but a joke to challenge him. And maybe she was.

She knew it was foolishness, to lash out physically because she couldn't defeat her mental anguish. It was stupid to challenge him and his six-foot long blade with only her fists, but she wasn't thinking. She couldn't think, couldn't let the dark feelings pull her under until this whole sick mess was resolved.

It frustrated her to see that he danced around her punches and kicks with such ease and elegance. He was taunting her, yet what could she do but fight on? She rolled and stumbled and dodged, and it took more mental will than she knew she possessed to stand up again every time. She glided in and out of the large arcs of his blade with the innate fighter's grace she'd been born with, but she could also feel the burn and lashes of every hit she could not avoid.

He knocked her to the floor once again, and she rolled to the side just in time to avoid the blade swinging down on her to cleave the rocky ground she'd just been on top of. She scrambled to her feet, flipping backwards out of reach of the Masamune and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

But then she realized that something wasn't right. Sephiroth's movements getting slower.

Her breathing was heavy, too heavy and the sweat made it difficult to see, but she could have almost sworn that Sephiroth wasn't taunting her as she'd thought. Rather he was grimacing as if he was in pain.

She should have taken advantage of him, but something stayed her body.

It was almost like there was an internal conflict within him.

And all at once, hope sparked. If Cloud could just fight back and defeat Sephiroth's presence within him, then...

Then what? Then she wouldn't have to kill him? Had she already decided that if he couldn't come back to himself that she would kill him?

Tears threatened to overwhelm her, but she held back her emotions, refusing to let herself be dictated by them. This was about more than her survival; this was about Cloud's and she couldn't allow anything get in the way of that.

The conflict within Sephiroth seemed to last an eternity, but at the same time, it ended too quickly. Tifa was dismayed to see that Cloud had lost that latest skirmish.

"So the puppet has claws," murmured Sephiroth just before his icy green eyes flashed brightly and he rushed at her, his feet barely skimming the floor as he slashed his sword in wide but unnaturally quick arcs that were almost impossible to dodge.

Slowed by Cloud's resistance as he was, Sephiroth was still the fastest opponent Tifa had ever fought. Her trophies of cuts and lacerations only grew. She could not keep up this grisly dance forever, and even now she felt herself weakening as the many wounds he inflicted on her trickled with her life's blood.

Then, with a single misstep in a moment so quick that she was on the ground, her breath knocked out of her, before she knew what happened.

Sephiroth's tall frame loomed over her and she found herself oddly calm in the face of the end. She wished...she wished only that she'd had a chance to save Cloud, that she could've had one more opportunity to apologize. Apologize that she'd not figured things out earlier.

She watched him raise the Masamune high in the air and knew at least that her death would be a quick one. She refused to shut her eyes, wanting—no, needing to see the face of her killer. She needed to know that in the end, Sephiroth had been in complete control and that Cloud would not have at least her death on his conscience.

Then suddenly, he paused, his body stiffening. "Damn you!" he cursed, the first time Tifa had seen him lose his composure.

A long, piercing shriek ripped through the still cavern and he doubled over, his appearance flickering back and forth between Cloud and Sephiroth. A loud gasp, and then it was Cloud on his knees, his eyes desperate, so damn desperate.

"I won't let him hurt you. I can't let him hurt you."

"Cloud!" She fought the pain and the dizziness to stumble to her feet, even as she took note of the single black wing that protruded from his right shoulder.

"Finish it, Tifa," he commanded with gasping breaths. "Finish it now."

She shook her head. "You can't ask me to do this. You can't."

"Tifa, this needs to end. You have to do it, if not for everyone else, then for me. Please Tifa, don't let me become his tool."

"No, Cloud, no." Her mind raced and latched onto one point. Talking rapidly now, she fell to her knees before him and cradled his face in her blood-spattered hands. "If you were able to take back over your body now, that means that you can fight it. You can fight Sephiroth and get him out of your body. We still have a chance!"

She couldn't kill him when there was still a chance!

"Damn it Tifa, I can't hold him back any longer!" he roared.

She didn't have another moment to think because he suddenly shoved her away so hard that she went flying through the air and landed on the ground with a sick thud.

Cloud writhed on his knees, his and Sephiroth's images vying for dominance. Even as she tried to deny it, she knew this was a battle that Cloud was going to lose.

She was going to have to do it.

A high whining pounded in her head and she couldn't tell if it was coming from within or without. Either way, it blunted her thoughts and the numbness gave her enough strength to push to her feet one last time.

Cloud's Buster Sword lay a few feet away. With mechanical movements, she went to pick it up. The hilt was foreign and heavy in her hands, so she dragged the massive weapon behind her until she stood in front of Cloud. He was completely lost to the world, his inner battle one she couldn't help him win.

There was only one solution. She prayed she had the strength to do it. There would be little left of her after this, but her hands were steady as she lifted the Buster Sword level with his heart.

She had to do this. She had to kill Sephiroth. She had to kill Cloud.

Without giving herself another moment to second-guess herself, she plunged the sword through his heart, the squelching sound of metal invading human flesh and grating against bone almost enough to debilitate her and make her let go.

No, she chose this path and she had to see it through.

With strength she didn't know she had, she shoved against the sword one more time until it peeked out the back of his body.

A single loud grunt resounded and though she didn't want to, her eyes lifted of their own accord and saw Cloud's eyes—clear and not haunted for the first time in a long time. He didn't—couldn't—say a word, but she saw the depths of his gratitude shining brightly.

She'd never hated anything more.

How could he look at her with gratitude when she will hate herself for the rest of her life?

Even as Cloud's eyes fell closed, Sephiroth's superimposed his and solidified. Though blood dribbled out of his mouth and soaked his teeth in macabre red, he rasped in his ever-commanding voice, "Foolish little girl. What did I tell you before? I need a puppet's body to materialize, and I cannot always come and go as I please, but _neither can you kill me_. Your despair will be a delicious feast."

Before she could even begin to grasp the horrible implications of that, he fell backwards, the sword a macabre flag standing proudly from his body.

Then just like that, Sephiroth's features melted away and there was only Cloud, bloody and beaten and dead. A loud scream drowned her ears and she thought for a detached moment that it was the shifting of the rocks. Then she realized that the scream was coming from her own throat and that she was weeping, weeping like her heart had just been torn from her body.

She wouldn't realize until later that her heart had shriveled and died the moment she, with her own hands, killed the man who meant more to her than anything in the world.


End file.
